


Team Winchester

by silencethroughwords



Series: Team Winchester [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Demonic Possession, Drinking, Gen, Hunters & Hunting, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Substance Abuse, Swearing, Winchester Sister
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 07:34:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3520781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silencethroughwords/pseuds/silencethroughwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story follows Sam and Dean's sister (the reader) throughout their childhood and lives, growing up together and having sibling moments drenched in the Winchesters' stellar luck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This story is in second-person, and uses Y/N to denote the main character/the sister. If you want to remove it/see an actual name, you can use this neat Chrome extension I developed called InteractiveFics (more details on a blog with the same name/link is in my bio).

_“Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Don’t look back –_ now,  _both of you – GO!”_

_You clutched to Dean’s sleeves as he held onto Sam and you both sprinted outside of the house, the heat soaking through your clothes. Even at three, you knew not to question Dad’s orders – if he said you needed to go outside, you didn’t think twice. Once you were on the front lawn, Dean looked up at the second floor and you followed his gaze._

_Was that – was that fire?_

_“It’s okay, Y/N,” Dean mumbled, “It’s okay, Sam.”_

_No, no it’s not okay. Mom’s in there. Mom – Mom! Mo –_

“Y/N!” a voice called through the haze, “Y/N, wake up! Wake up it’s just a bad dream.  _Y/N._ ”

You gasped and stood up, your heart pounding in your chest, your palms sweaty and cold, all at the same time. You took in the scene around you – you were in that same motel room.  _Just a bad dream_ , you reminded yourself,  _that was five years ago. Grow up, Y/N. Stop thinking of Mom._

Dean patted your back. “You were screaming.”

You closed your eyes. “I’m fine,” you said, “Did I wake Sam?”

He snickered. “Right. Like anything can wake Sam.”

You sighed and rubbed your eyes. “You know,” you said, “Sometimes I think he has more nightmares than us.”

“ _No way_ ,” Dean said, “He doesn’t even remember that night – he was just a baby.”

“You think he really doesn’t know?” you asked, whispering now, “About any of this?”

“Of course he doesn’t – I didn’t tell him, did you?” he asked, his eyes wide, “Y/N, I swear, Dad’s gonna –”

“I didn’t tell him, relax,” you said, “But he’s gonna find out sooner or later. Then what?”

“We’ll figure it out then,” he answered, smiling, “Hey, you wanna go play some video games?”

—

“ _You’re a team!_ ”

You flinched at your father’s tone as you stood outside the motel room, stepping behind Dean who was shaking himself but kept his mouth in a straight line, holding back any reaction. You mimicked your brother’s expression – he was right: soldiers don’t cry. And you were a team. You and Dean were a team, with one job. One job:  _watch out for Sammy._

You couldn’t even do that.

“Dad, it’s not Dean’s fault, it’s mine,” you said, stepping forward. Dean’s eyes widened and he looked at you like you were crazy. You focused on your father instead. “I was bored, I nagged him to go play.”

“And he listened!” he yelled, his eyes shooting daggers at your older brother, “He should’ve known better!  _You_ should’ve known better! That creature – he almost  _killed_ your brother!”

Your lips quivered and you held back your tears.  _Soldiers don’t cry._ “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Me, too,” Dean said, “I know I’m –”

“Save it,” your dad said, “ _You –”_ He pointed at Dean “—we’re gonna have a word later. But you –” He turned to you. “—Pack your bag.”

“What?” Dean asked, “Where is she going? Dad –”

“It’s okay, Dean,” you breathed, looking down and turning towards the room. You were warned, several times, that if you didn’t follow your orders, you’d be sent away. You didn’t know where, but you knew it had to be pretty bad if it was supposed to be punishment.  At least it was just you. At least it wasn’t Dean as well, then Sam wouldn’t have anyone to look after him while Dad was away hunting monsters.

“No, Dad, please –  _please_ – you can punish me!” Dean said, “It’s my fault, I  _know_ it is – she didn’t –”

“Don’t worry about her,” he said, “She’ll be alright. Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dad!”

“Don’t test me, boy.”

“At least tell me where she’s going.”

“A friend of mine – Deacon. She’s staying there until you  _both_ can learn some respect.”

—

**May 7 th, 1989**

The six months you spent with your dad’s friend from the Marines weren’t half bad.

They were actually sort of great. He had a daughter, too – Claire. You didn’t get along with her at first; she was the opposite of you and your brothers – almost too childish for your taste at times, but after a while you started to enjoy her company. She played video games with you and helped you pick out your first dress ever. Dad always said dresses weren’t practical and they could easily get caught in stuff, but Dad wasn’t around to say no this time, so you bought a bunch of dresses with her and her mom.

They were great, but you missed Dean and Sam – your  _real_ family.

On your birthday, Dean found a way to call you. His voice was hushed and almost shaky, but he said he’d find a way to convince Dad to get you back with them. He promised he wouldn’t let you stay there much longer. You never told him how much you actually enjoyed your time with the Deacons; you didn’t want him to think you didn’t want to come back. So he tried to convince Dad.

And he did. Two weeks later, you were out of there, back in Dad’s Impala. Sam hugged you tight all the way to California, where Dad’s next job was, while Dean smiled at you weakly from his position on the opposite side of the backseat and gave you a small wave. “Missed you,” he said.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you whispered after your dad stopped for gas and you made sure Sam was asleep, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinched, but didn’t pull away.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, plastering his famous smirk, “Why do you ask?”

“You’re lying.”

“Am not!”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No, of course not,” he said, “You didn’t do anything. Hey –” He leaned closer to you, whispering in your ear so Sam didn’t hear, “I had a beer the other day. A  _real_ one, you know.”

“ _Really?_  How was it like?”

He shrugged. “It was alright I guess,” he said, “By the way, there’s something you should know.”

“What?”

“We’re not a team anymore,” he said, “You’re my responsibility, like Sam. I report to Dad.”

“ _What?_  No – Dean –”

“Don’t, I tried,” he said, averting his gaze, “Believe me, I did. But this is better. You don’t have to worry about Dad yelling at you anymore. And you don’t have to worry about going back to the Deacons.”

You looked down at Sam. “I –” you started but you remembered – you don’t question orders, you follow them. Dad knew better. He knew what was best for you – all of you, right? “I won’t disappoint you.”

“ _Duh_ ,” he said, “Hey, I heard we’re staying somewhere with a beach, maybe we can ask Dad to go for a swim later?”

—

**February 10 th, 1996**

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You froze, hand on the knob of your motel room. “Um, I’m just going to run and grab some stuff– we’re all out of milk.”

“ _Right,_ ” Dean said, arms crossed, appearing beside you. Sam was right behind him, his eyes narrowed. “You’re in a dress and –” He flicked his fingers near your head “—God-knows-what in your hair to go get  _milk_.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine, I’m meeting someone. I’ll be back before ten, I promise.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Meeting someone?”

“As in a date?” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” you answered, turning the knob, “I have my knife, I’ll be fine for a couple of hours on my own.”

“Uh,  _no_ ,” Dean said.

“Excuse me?”

He held the door with his hand. “ _No,_ you’re not going out.”

“You’ve been doing way more than just going on a date!” you said, “I’m just one year younger – hell, even  _Sam’s_ seen girls before and he’s  _twelve._ ”

“It’s not the same thing,” Sam said, shaking his head.

“What would Dad say?” Dean asked.

You groaned. “ _Who cares?_ ” you asked, “It’s not like he’s around! You two do whatever you want all the time and I don’t say anything.”

“It’s  _different_ ,” Sam insisted.

“Shut up, Sam,” you snapped, focused on Dean, knowing he was the only one really preventing you from going out at this point. “ _I’m going out._ ”

“You know what? Fine,” he said, “Go out. I’m coming with you.”

“Ha ha, very funny.”

“You think I’m kidding?” he asked, “I’m not going to sit on my ass here while you’re out there with some  _loser_ feeling you –”

“Shut up,” you pled, shutting your eyes. “Just shut up, right now. Please.”

“You’re my responsibility.”

“Oh enough with that crap,” you said, “You know as well as I do that I don’t  _need_ your protection. I don’t need you to dictate my life for me – Dad already does enough of that for both of you.”

His eyes softened and he lowered his hand from the door. “I don’t mean to sound like Dad,” he said, “But I’m worried about you.”

“We both are.”

You sighed. “I’ll be fine. Jesse’s a nice guy –”

A smile spread on Dean’s lips. “You’re going out with Jesse? Jesse McAdams from school?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “ _Yeah_?”

He laughed. “You know what?” he said, opening the door for you, “I changed my mind, go ahead, party all night long.”

“Wha – why did you –” You paused. “You know what? I won’t question it. He’s waiting outside, so if you’ll –”

Dean held up a finger to you. “Just wait here a minute, will you?”

“Um, okay?” you said, “What –”

“Come on, Sammy,” he said, walking out the door, Sam right on his tail. You followed them, keeping your distance, curious. Dean stood in front of Jesse’s car and banged his hands loudly on it. “Come out!”

_What the heck is wrong with them?_

Jesse stumbled his way out of the car, raising his hands up. “I didn’t do anything, I –”

“So you wanna take our sister out, huh?” Dean asked, cracking his knuckles. “Haven’t you heard about Brad?”

_Who’s Brad?_ “Dean, stop.”

“No, he has to know,” Dean said, his tone serious. Sam looked just as confused as you were. “There was this guy she went out with last semester, before we moved here,” Dean explained, his chin up and poker face on, “And he didn’t make her very happy, and see –” He snatched his gun out of his jeans and rolled it in his hand. “I didn’t really  _like_ that.”

“DEAN!”

He ignored you and continued to dangle the gun in front of your date’s pale face. Sam added, “It’s why we had to move, you know.”

“Oh my  _God_ ,” you whined, walking up to Jesse and taking his arm in yours. “Forget those idiots, Jesse, let’s go.”

He tensed against you and pulled his arm away. “Um, I think I forgot something,” he said, “I’ll, uh, have to go do some, err, stuff,” he explained, looking at his feet on his way back in the car. “I’ll see you at school, I suppose.”

“Wait – Jesse –”

“See you later, Y/N,” he mumbled, the car buzzing back to life. Sam and Dean stepped out of his way, both smug as hell and he drove off.

You stared at them, mouth hanging open, tears stinging behind your eyelids. “How  _dare_ you?!”

Dean shrugged. “What can I say? He scares easy.”

You bit your lips to keep yourself from crying in front of them and clenched your fists, storming back inside. You threw yourself on the bed, tears unwillingly rolling down your cheek. Your chest was constricted with sobs that you struggled to keep in once both of them joined you in the room as well.

You couldn’t live like this – this wasn’t the life you wanted for yourself. It was enough that you couldn’t go to college; Dad told you your whole college fund was spent on ammo and you weren’t smart enough to get in on your own. You couldn’t swing that kind of money even if you could by some miracle get scores good enough to land you a life away from this crap “family business”. You couldn’t live the rest of your life with two – no,  _three,_ because Sam was bound to officially join the gang –  _control freaks_  who treated you like an inmate while each and every one of them got to do whatever they wanted.

Dad hunted. Dean had so many girlfriends it was hard to keep count. Sam went out with girls as well. You were the only one never allowed anything beyond taking care of your brothers and staying in. You weren’t even allowed to look nice – you’ve always wanted to grow your blonde hair long and you did once. You managed to keep your hair hidden under a beanie for  _months_ last winter, hoping you’d be able to convince your dad to keep it if it looked decent enough. So one day, after he came back from a hunt in a particularly good mood, you slipped the beanie off and asked him what he thought.

All hell broke loose.

He jumped from his seat and yelled – and yelled, and yelled, and  _yelled_ – about how you  _had_ to cut it, how it was irresponsible and dangerous. How monsters could grab it and overpower you. And, as usual, he blamed Dean for it. For not realizing how dangerous and stupid me growing your hair was. For not noticing that you didn’t cut your hair as regularly as they did.

But that wasn’t the real reason.

That night, he went out and got drunk – so drunk that when he came back Dean got up and ushered you and Sam into the adjacent room, locking the door on all three of you so you “wouldn’t make him mad” but then he called for you and Dean had no choice but to let you out. When you joined him he started yelling again about the haircut and going over and over –not about how dangerous it was.

But about how much you looked like your mother in it.

So ever since, until today, you kept your hair chopped short and drowned yourself in oversized sweaters and jeans. If it wasn’t for your earrings, you couldn’t tell the difference between you and an average boy just to stay on his good side. To obey his orders. Like a good soldier.

You were done getting yourself – and Dean by association – into trouble with him, so you did as he said. You walked in your brothers’ shadows and nobody usually noticed you. Except Jesse – Jesse noticed you. He noticed you and he talked to you and he might have been awkward and the complete opposite of you and your brothers, but he liked you and you liked him.

And you couldn’t even, for one night, have  _that._

“Hey, are you crying?” Sam asked, kneeling in front of you. “Don’t cry. I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“Go away.”

“Yeah, Y/N…” Dean trailed off, sitting beside you on the bed, “It’s okay, it’s not the end of the world,” he said, “He’s just a boy. You’ll get plenty of those.” He shrugged. “When we’re dead.”

“Stop. This isn’t some joke,” you mumbled, sniffing.

“It is if you’re crying over him,” he said, “Really, Y/N? He’s not even cool.”

“Would you rather I went out with someone  _like you_?”

“Well, no,” he said, “I’d rather you just stay single for the rest of your adolescent life.”

“Yeah,” you breathed, “You’d rather I just waited back while you three go out and have lives. In a few years you’ll join Dad, or you’ll be like him, on the road, all the time,” you said, “Sam, too, probably,” you went on, “But what about _me_?”

“I won’t leave you – or Sam – behind. You’ll tag along.”

“What if I just want to be  _normal_?”

“We’re a  _family_ – we –”

You groaned and buried your face in your hand. “Don’t, just stop,” you said, “I’ve heard this too many times. Leave me to sleep it off.”

“Fine, whatever,” he mumbled, “C’mon, Sammy, let’s go earn some cash.”

Once they were both out of the room, you got up and wiped your face. You changed into your usual clothes and packed your bag, complete with your own knife and one of the shotguns Dad left with you. You double-checked that you had enough money in your always-reliable brown shoes, grabbed your fake identity and driver’s license and left two notes, one on the bed, the other in Dean’s duffel bag:

**_Dad: It’s not Dean’s fault. Don’t look for me._ **

**_Dean: I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you and Sam. I’ll call, I promise._ **


	2. Chapter Two

_Dean POV_

How could he  _do that_?

How could he drive her over the edge like that? Sure, Sam had his outbursts, too. But it was different with Y/N – she wasn’t the youngest, she wasn’t Sam. She was closer to him than anyone else, and for her to just take off like that without any warnings or pretty much anything except for a lousy note on her bed – it said something. But he never thought she’d react like that, especially not over some boy she wanted to go out with. If he’d known, he would’ve let her go out with this loser McAdams – she would’ve seen for herself how bad they would’ve been together anyway. She wouldn’t have been so upset she left.

Dean didn’t know what to do at first – Sam freaked out and kept saying that they should call Dad, that he’d know what to do. No. No, that wasn’t even an  _option._ When Dad comes home he  _has_ to find her here. There was no way in hell he’d let the same thing that happened when Sam took off for a week happen again. It was bad enough that she disappeared on his watch.

God, if anything happened to her…

Before he could even form a coherent thought, at three in the morning, Bobby called. They all only had one cell phone to be used in emergencies only, so when it rang Dean didn’t even wait for it to ring once and then pick up the second time, he answered right away.

“ _Stop messin’ around and listen to me,”_  Bobby’d said, “ _The kid said she’s staying with a friend, and we both know your damn daddy wouldn’t let her have any, so my best guess is that other kid – the one she stayed with once before and wouldn’t stop talkin’ about for months. Ya still have that number?”_

Yes. Yes, he did.

He had to wait for a few hours – until it was a decent hour in Arkansas – before he called the Deacons. When it was 7AM there, he decided it was good enough a time and called. Mr. Deacon himself picked up and Dean had to play it out as coolly as possible. He gave him the impression that he was calling under his dad’s orders so he wouldn’t find a way to contact him and told him that they had a problem, and that Y/N wasn’t with them. He left his cell number with him in case she called and told him to let him know right away. Two hours later, he confirmed it – Y/N was in Arkansas.

Thank  _God._

“Okay, look, Mr. Deacon,” Dean said, already on his way out of the motel with Sam, “Don’t let her know we know she’s there, alright? She’ll flee,” he said, “Just, please, keep her somewhere safe until we come pick her up.”

“She asked Claire to meet her outside,” he said, “I don’t suppose she’ll show up here if I was around, huh?”

“Probably not,” Dean said, “She knows you’d call Da – us.”

“He doesn’t know, does he?”

 _Pause._  “No, sir.”

“I’ll keep her here,” he said, “I’ll find a way. If you don’t show up today, I’ll have to call John, alright?”

 _Sigh. “_ Thank you, sir,” Dean said, “We’ll be there as soon as we can, I promise.”

—

“She’s asleep.”

“Can we see her?” Sam asked.

Dean held out a hand to his brother and turned back to the girl - Claire. “Is she okay?”

“Just tired, I think,” she said, “She stayed up all night at some diner.”

“Did she say why? Why take off, I mean.” Dean asked.  _Maybe it isn’t me. Maybe it’s something else._

Claire grimaced. “Well,” she said, “Before she went to bed she said something about being tired of ‘the family business’, whatever that is,” she explained, “She said she wanted to have her own life.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a knowing glance. That was what they all wanted, no? A shot at their own thing – a life with no monsters and no blood. Prom. A house. A  _home_. A dad who wasn’t deadbeat with a bunch of excuses. He knew that feeling all-too-well.

But he thought she wasn’t like Sam, he thought if she ever left she’d drag him along – or he’d be the one dragging them out of this. He always thought of both of them as a unit, a team – Sam, too, especially lately, after he started helping out on cases as well. It was them against the world.

She didn’t feel that way, did she?

Maybe things had changed since they were little. Maybe she  _was_ just his responsibility and nothing else. Maybe she just couldn’t stand being around him anymore. He was becoming like Dad, wasn’t he? He was bossing her around a lot – but he didn’t  _want to._  That was never his intention – to make her hate him like that. Hate him enough to flee. On his watch.

Silent, he dug his hand in his back pocket and slipped some cash out of his wallet. “Ask your dad if she can stay a week or so,” he said, “We’ll see her, make sure she’s alright, and be on our way. Don’t tell her we came – we’ll be here in a week to pick her up again.”  _Maybe she’ll calm down by then_.

“Dean, no,” Sam said, “Dad’s coming back  _tomorrow._ ”

“I know,” Dean said, smiling at his little brother, “It’s okay.”

—

**June 22 nd, 2003**

_Reader POV_

You didn’t choose the hunting life. The hunting life chose you – more like trapped you and clawed its initials on the back of your neck. A year after Sam left for Stanford – on a full ride, that lucky duck – Dad decided to go after the thing that killed your mother, full-time, leaving you and Dean to hunt on your own. A few months ago, Dean thought it would be for the best if you two split up for a while – dug your own cases up. He said it was because this was much more efficient, but you knew the real reason.

He couldn’t stand being around you without Sam.

Sure, he loved you. You knew he did, but Sam taking off like that (for good this time) and Dad just sort of bailing on both of you to get to his ultimate goal – it shattered the dynamic you had going, dysfunctional as it was. Carrying on with you by his side was weird for both of you. There was no real reason why you had to be together. You were 23. He was 24. It was about time you two started going down your own paths, no? You didn’t have a common goal anymore – except saving people, hunting things.

The family business.

But it was too vague and too weak to hold you together, so splitting up was a must. He made the Impala his headquarters while you made your way to Sioux Falls. You propped your legs up on Bobby’s desk – he lost all hope of you changing that habit a while ago – and dug into the book on shape-shifters he gave you earlier.

“Glad you’re comfortable,” he grumbled on his way in, throwing a six-pack your way. You caught it and set it aside.

“Good morning to you, too, Bobby,” you beamed, “There’s breakfast in the kitchen.”

“I hope there’s enough for the two-hundred pounds of sorrow sleeping outside.”

“Um, what?”

“Your idjit brother,” he said, “He’s outside, in the backseat of the Impala.” He pointed at the window. “Along with maybe a hundred burger wrappers. Probably been out there all night. I’mma take a wild guess and say this ain’t a happy visit.”

You set your feet down and stood up. “Shit.”

“Figured you should wake him up,” he said, “He’s probably here for you anyway.”

You nodded absently, slipping into your shoes. “Yeah, yeah, sure,” you mumbled, opening the door, “Thanks, Bobby.”

The hot breeze hit your face as you made your way to the black car. He was sprawled on the backseat like Bobby’d said, dark circles around his closed eyes, his cheeks a little red like he was – God forbid – crying. Did someone die? Did a hunt go bad?

The doors were unlocked, so you opened the one closest to his head. “Hey,” you said, careful not to touch him. “Hey – Dean!”  

He mumbled something and turned on his side. Reluctantly, you tapped his shoulder. In an instant, he grabbed your wrist and twisted it, sitting up.  _Ow!_  “What?” he breathed, his eyes wide, staring at you.

“Nice reflexes,” you grunted, pulling your wrist away.

He looked around him and then back at you before recognition hit his features. “Oh,” he said, “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey…” you said, “Not that I’m not glad, but what brings you here?”

He shrugged. “Is it so weird that I want to see my little sister?”

“Dean.”

He sighed. “It’s Cassie. Cassie Robinson – I told you about her, right?” he said, “She – well,  _I –_ I dunno, man. Can I come in?”


	3. Chapter Three

“It’s a little hard to believe.”

“What’s hard to believe?” Dean frowned. “That she didn’t like the hunter’s lifestyle? Yeah, you’re right – what’s not to like?” He grimaced. “It even comes with a dental plan.”

“The great Dean Winchester, falling for someone,” you said, sitting across from him on the table, “Having a long term relationship.”

“What can I say?” he said, his voice void of humor, taking another sip of his coffee, “It’s a Christmas miracle.”

“No, seriously,” you said, “I had no idea. I mean, yeah, you said you were seeing someone called Cassie, but I never would’ve guessed.”

He raised his cup in a dismissive manner, looking down at his phone in front of him. He was probably hoping she’d call – tell him she took it all back, that she loved him and his lifestyle didn’t matter as long as they were together or some crap like that, but he knew it was too good to be true – too cheesy, even. He knew it wouldn’t happen, yet he kept glancing down at the device and occasionally checking for signal.

You just sat there in silence for a while. Neither of you were the chatty type – especially not about stuff like this. Sam called you both emotionally constipated at times – too proud to admit you had human feelings like everyone else. But it wasn’t pride, not really. Maybe it was different for Dean, but you – you were afraid. Afraid that if you let your thoughts out you’d have to face them, dwell on them. Some things were better left unsaid, packed in a safe box in the back of your mind forever.

“Do you think I should quit?”

“Quit?”

“Hunting,” he said, flipping the phone on its face. “Maybe I should quit. Get a day job. Be normal,” he said, “Like you and Sam.”

You frowned. “Me and Sam?” you repeated, “I  _hunt_ , Dean,” you said, “I know we don’t talk much but, Jesus, what else do you think I do around here?”

“Bobby takes you on  _hunts_?”

“Nobody takes me anywhere, Dean,” you said, “I dig up my own gigs. Sure, I help with research and calls here but I hunt solo.”

He shook his head. “This isn’t right,” he muttered, standing up, “Bobby!”

“Save it,” the older hunter said, walking into the room, drying off his hands with a towel, “I heard you two. Yes, she goes on her own hunts. She’s more than capable. What’s it to you?”

“What’s it  _to me_?” Dean said, “We talked about this, Bobby! I told you – she stays here and she does research or whatever but she doesn’t  _hunt_. You said you’ll talk to her about this.”

Your mouth dropped. “ _What?_ ” When did that conversation ever happen?

Bobby set down the towel on the table with a  _thump._ “Mind your tone with me, boy,” he said, “You told me you didn’t want her out there but then she thought otherwise. She’s no kid, Dean, if she wants to do something you know as well as I do she’ll do it.”

“Hello?” you said, “I’m right here! What the hell are you two talking about?”

Dean turned to you. “Why do you think I split us up?” he said, “Dad said you weren’t fit for this – that he didn’t –”

“Whoa, whoa,” you said, “Stop right there – Dad said I wasn’t  _fit for hunting_?”

“After your accident,” he explained, “That day you broke your arm, remember?”

“It was a broken arm – you break your limbs all the time!”

“It’s different.”

 _Of course it is,_  you thought. It was always like that, “It’s different” or “Because it’s  _you_ ” or (and this was the best one) “You’re not like the boys.” Dad didn’t even mean it like “you’re a girl, you’re incapable” – you wished he did, at least you could prove yourself to him then – he meant it like “you’re not like Sam and Dean”. And for so long you thought he was right – that you were nothing special. Sam was always the smart one, Dean was the best shot out of the three of you, but you? You were average. You weren’t the best at anything, just ordinary. And Dad never missed a chance to let you know how ordinary you were.

But ever since you’d been hunting on your own, you’d regained faith in yourself and your abilities. Hunting was the only thing you knew how to do well – the only thing you knew how to do at all. That was why you were forced into the life – there was no other alternative. At least that way your efforts meant something – saved people. Caused less suffering to the world. Maybe in the eyes of your father you were never as good as his precious Sam and Dean, but you were  _good enough._ For yourself, for the people you saved, for Bobby.

And you thought you were good enough in Dean’s eyes, too. You thought he believed in you on some level if he left you to hunt on your own. But apparently he  _didn’t_. Apparently, he just dodged the conversation and handed you over to Bobby to handle you – handle the incompetent little sister. The burden. For fuck’s sake.

“You know what?” you snapped, storming towards the door. “Maybe she didn’t leave you because you’re a hunter. Maybe she left you because you’re a  _dick._ ”

—

**The Next Day**

**Toyon Hall, Stanford University**

“Y/N? No way.” Sam grinned. “What are you doing here?”

You threw your arms around his shoulders, standing on your toes to hug him properly. “What are they  _feeding you_ here?” you asked, your voice hoarse and patted his back once before pulling away. “You’ve gotten so  _tall._ ”

He laughed. “Don’t worry, you’ll catch up,” he said, “Come in, come in.”

Sam’s dorm room was smaller than you thought, with a door that connects it to another also-very-tiny one. He said that it was break and most students were away at home or on vacation while he and a few others were just waiting around for the summer quarter. You sat down on his bed and he sat across from you on his desk, legs propped on the top of his chair. He offered you a beer (which you scolded him for because he was still not old enough to legally drink then laughed it off because you’d all been drinking since your early teens).

“So you finally decided to visit – after two years.”

“Well.” You rested your back on the wall. “Like you said, it’s been two years…and…yeah.”

“Something happened.”

“You  _are_ the smart one, college boy,” you teased, running a hand through your short hair, “But yeah, don’t worry, it’s nothing major,” you said, “Just, you know, Sergeant and Jerk Winchester taking a walk in their personalities.”

He offered you a small, sympathetic smile. “How are they?”

“Do you care?”

He frowned. “Of course I do – Y/N, I swore I was done hunting, but I still  _care_. You guys are all the family I have.”

“Yeah, well, we’re dicks so I wouldn’t blame you,” you said, “They’re fine. I’m fine. Bobby’s fine. We’re all peachy.” You curled your leg beneath you. “Dad’s hell-bent on finding whatever killed Mom – full time. He dropped all the other hunts to Dean,” you explained, “Sends him coordinates whenever he finds something fishy.”

“And what about you?” he asked, “You haven’t been hunting?”

You were in no mood to explain, so you just shrugged and sunk deeper into the bed, glancing around. “Unusually clean for a college boy,” you noted, “Isn’t it supposed to be messy and smelly around here?” His cheeks darkened and he looked down on his hands, grabbing a ball that was lying around on the desk. “What?” you said, your smile creeping into your tone. “Is it a girl? It’s a girl, isn’t it?”

Before he could say anything, his door burst open. “Winchester!” a guy called, holding his arms up, “My man! I – wait, who is this?”

“That’s –”

“Sam!” a softer voice called from behind the guy. “Let me through, Brady.”

You sat upright, amused as Sam stumbled his way down the desk as soon as he heard the girl’s voice, clearing his throat and fixing his shirt as the blonde walked in. She didn’t notice you at first – her eyes fixed on your little brother. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek once before her gaze landed on you. You gave her a small, awkward wave.

“Jess – this is Y/N, my sister,” he said, a hand on her waist, the other running nervously through his hair. “Y/N, this is Jessica, my, uh –”

She smiled at you. “We’ve been dating for a while,” she explained, “No labels yet.”

“Cool,” you said, laughing and extending your hand to shake hers. “Nice to meet you, Jessica,” you said, “Didn’t know Sammy was seeing anybody.”

She blushed. “Well I didn’t know he had a sister either,” she said, playfully hitting his chest. “You should’ve said something – told me she was coming. We could’ve arranged a tour or something.”

“To be fair, I didn’t really say—”

“Yeah, Winchester,” Brady said, “You never told anyone you had a sister.”

You frowned and shot him a questioning look.  _Really? He was_ that  _ashamed of his family? Of you?_ “I, uh,” he said, “It was never brought up, so.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah,” you said, “It happens.” You rose to your feet, shifting your weight awkwardly. “I’ll just go…” You grabbed your bag, “It was nice catching up, little brother.”

“Hey, no,” Sam said, “Stay. We’re heading out for lunch and then we’re going to see a movie – all of us. Tag along, stay the night even,” he suggested, “You don’t have anything urgent, do you?”

You raised your eyebrows at him –  _are you sure? You’re not just saying that?_ He nodded.

“Okay, I guess.”

“Awesome!” Brady said, “How do you feel about really crappy burgers?”

—

“…and then he went on and on about how it was  _agam_ not  _agabo_  and that our TA was an idiot who didn’t know his Latin.”

“To be fair,” Sam said, caressing Jess’ hand which was wrapped around his elbow, “I was having a pretty nasty hangover that morning.”

“ _You?_ ” you said, suddenly interested in the otherwise-boring conversation, “Hungover? Is it physically possible?”

He rolled his eyes. “I partied too hard the night before.”

You feigned seriousness. “It’s like I don’t even know you anymore,” you said, gulping down some of your beer, “Stanford has ruined your innocence, Sammy.”

“Ah, yeah, my innocence has been wiped clean,” he said, “I’m a badass now – don’t call me Sammy.”

You snickered. “Only losers call themselves badass,  _Sammy,_ ” you noted, “Everyone knows I’m the badass of the family.”

“…your argument just collapsed on itself.”

“Whatever, college boy,” you said, turning to Brady who was oddly engrossed in your conversation, “What about you? Are you a badass?”

His lips curled up in a crooked smile. “I don’t know,” he said, “You tell me.”

“Hmm.” You scanned him from head to toe. “You used to be a goody-two-shoes.”

He inched forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Used to be? What makes you say that?”

You shrugged. “I dunno,” you said, “Your clothes say spoiled rich kid, but your attitude – I dunno, really. You look like someone exploited your innocence.” You took another sip of the beer. “Like Sammy,” you teased.

“Sammy’s a twelve-year-old chubby kid,” your brother said, pulling his infamous bitch-face, “I’m  _Sam._ ”

“Whatever you say, Sammy-kins.”

He shook his head and switched his attention to his girlfriend. Brady tapped your shoulder. “Wanna get out of here? I can take you on a real tour.”

You chuckled. “Aren’t you a bit forward?”

 “ _Carpe diem._ ”

You laughed. “You’re not even pronouncing it right!”

He leaned forward, his voice too low for Sam and Jess to hear, “Does it matter?” he asked, “What do you say? Take off with me right now – forget about them – no curfew, no promises, nothing – just come with me right now and forget about whatever plans you have.”

“Does that usually work for you?” you asked, “Are the girls you ask really that dumb?”

He looked at you straight in the eyes. “I never asked anyone else like that before,” he said, “You seem like you wouldn’t back out from a challenge.”

“So you’re  _challenging_ me now?”

“I am,” he said, “I challenge you to accept my invitation – no conditions, nothing. No matter what it entails.”

“Just take off?”

“Just take off.”

You had nothing to lose, and even if he looked fairly strong you knew you were stronger, and you could defend yourself if anything went sideways. You battled monsters for a living for fuck’s sake. You could take him out if it came to it, easy. And what would he want to do – that college boy – anyway? What’s the  _worst_ he could have in mind that you couldn’t handle single-handedly?

“Alright,” you said, snatching some cash from your wallet and sliding it over to your brother. “Sam, we’re leaving.”

He and Jessica stopped talking and turned to you. “Wait, who?”

“Me and Brady,” you said simply, “We’re taking off. Have fun at the movies, you two.”

He snatched your arm, his eyes wide. “Y/N can I talk to you for a second?”

You raised his eyebrows at him.   _Really? He was playing the concerned brother now? Two hours ago he didn’t even acknowledge your existence._ You jerked your arm away. “We’ll talk later. I’ll give you a call.” You pushed your chair back. “Come on, Brady.”


	4. Chapter Four

Flashes of bright light. Whiskey burning its way down your throat. People. A crowd. The scent of candy so sharp and _colorful_  it makes your stomach twist. Hands trailing down the small of your back, gripping your side. Teeth grazing your neck. Brady’s hands. Brady’s teeth. Brady.  _Brady._

You weren’t sure where you were or what was going on. The only thought that registered in your mind was that you liked it. Liked what? You weren’t sure. Your vision was changing pace – one second the world was swirling, flashing, the other it was dumbing down, dulling out – fading into pure bliss. You tried to anchor your thoughts – your existence at this point.  _Focus on Brady._ He was the one constant amidst the haze. The only thing that linked you back to reality.

“Hey, hey,” Brady slurred into your ear, “There’s something you should try.”

“Hmm?”

He dangled his arm in front of you.  _What? What did he want you to try?_ “Lo-look at this.” He held something in his other hand and brought it to his wrist. A trail of something thick trailed down his arm. You knew this. You knew what this was. Yet for some reason you couldn’t locate the word.  _God, Y/N, think. Think, think, think, think._ “Taste.”

“N-no, no, no. Wha –”

“Trust me,” he breathed and brought his wrist closer. “ _Taste._ ”

You couldn’t think of one reason why  _not_. At least you’d know what that was. Was it ketchup? Was it candy? It smelled like candy. Metallic candy. Did metallic candy exist? Could someone chew them? Slowly, with a heavy tongue, you licked a drop.

_Good God, what was that stuff?_

Before you could process, you’d licked the rest of it, trailing up to the source and clutching your lips around it, sucking in more of this – this substance? Candy? Was it a form of ecstasy? You weren’t sure and you didn’t care. The more of it that trailed down your throat, the more chills ran down your spine. Every time it made contact with your taste buds your vision sharpened and it was like you were seeing, breathing,  _being_ for the first time.

Suddenly, he snatched his wrist away. “Okay, that’s enough for now.”

 “No, no,  _more_ ,” you mumbled, “ _More._ ”

“ _Shush_.” He brought his lips to yours for a chaste kiss. “Let’s get out of here, somewhere private.”

—

_Ring._

_Ring, ring, ring._

_Ring, ring, ring, RING, RING!_

You groaned and reached for your cell phone in your back pocket, bringing it up to your ear and pressing the button tiredly. “’ello?”

The person on the other end of the line heaved a sigh. “Y/N,” Sam said, “Where the hell are you?”

 _Sam?_ Where  _were_ you? Why was Sam calling? Did he come back from Sta – wait. Wait, wait, wait. “I—” you glanced around you. You were in some dorm room, you thought. Something that looked a lot like Sam’s but bigger and _empty._ There was no one else there. There weren’t even any belongings there. “I think I’m in someone’s dorm?”

“Oh God,” he groaned, “ _Whose_ dorm?”

“Um.” You sat up. “Brady’s, maybe?” Hopefully. You remembered making out with him, but that was it. You weren’t sure if you could handle the idea of you making out with some stranger you’d just met  _and_ going home with someone else.

“Brady doesn’t live in the dorms,” Sam said, frustrated. Well, fuck. “And he’s the one who called me this morning. Told me you were hammered last night and you left the party without telling him. Just disappeared.”

“I – I have no idea what happened,” you admitted, “Last thing I remember, he gave me this thing that looked like –” Your eyes widened as you remembered what it looked like – what he gave you.  _Blood?_ No, no, it couldn’t be. That was sick. And insane. And  _sick._ He wasn’t a vampire, was he? “Any chance your buddy’s a vampire?”

“…you’re still drunk, aren’t you?”

 _No?_ You got up and opened the window. Sun. Warmth. Nothing was burning.  _Good._ You headed to the nearest mirror and bared your teeth – normal. In need of a good brushing, but normal, human. “Yeah, may be,” you muttered. You could’ve sworn…

But he wasn’t a vampire, and most probably not psycho, so there wasn’t any good reason why it would be blood. You must’ve been imagining things. You’d had a lot of drinks last night, you remembered. And a pill. Or two. “Okay, get up. See the back of the door. It should have a map and the name of the residence hall,” he said, “And a room number. Tell me where you are, I’ll come get you. Is anyone else there?”

“No. Wait.”

Fifteen minutes later, your brother was barging into the unlocked room, hugging you as soon as he saw you. You almost flinched when he touched you; if it was Dean, he would’ve hugged you first then punched your shoulder later for being so dumb and irresponsible and whatnot. But, Sam? Sam was just glad you were alive, it seemed.

“I tried to warn you,” he said, pulling away, “Yesterday, at the burger joint – Brady’s bad news. He’s my friend and all, but ever since he came back from the last break – something changed.”

“Yeah, I gathered,” you muttered, rubbing your temples, “You got some Advil somewhere?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “What exactly did you have last night?”

You shrugged. “Stuff,” you said, “Some whiskey, I think, and, I dunno,  _stuff._ ”

“Yeah,” he said, throwing you your jacket, “No Advil for you. Unless you remember specifically what you took and how  _much_ , no drugs of any kind.”

“Aw, c’mon,” you whined, slipping on the jacket, “I need to function like a normal human being if I’m going to go back on the road before sunset.”

“You even  _try_ to do that and I’ll fucking call Dad,” he said, “I’m not even kidding, he’ll be more than happy to come over here and handle you himself. And if you think Dean’s ‘incident’ at CBGB’s was bad…”

You held your arms up. “I’m sorry I even  _suggested_ it,” you said, “And what are you,  _twelve?_ ‘I’ll tell Dad’?”

“Well if you think it’s childish, maybe I can call Dean instead.”

“…just shut up,” you mumbled bitterly, heading for the door, “And tell me where I can take a shower. I stink.”

—

**October 28 th, 2005**

**Jericho, California**

“You sure it’s that Constance Welch person?”

“Positive,” you told your father, “The story and the timeline fit,” you explained, “It’s gotta be her.”

“Do you know where she’s buried?”

You flipped through the printed pages in your hand. “ _Nada,_ ” you said, “Maybe we should ask the husband?”

He nodded. “I’ll do it, you stay here, wait for my call,” he announced, heading towards the motel room’s door, “You know, Y/N, you’ve been getting better.”

“Better?”

“At hunting,” he said, “In general. Your time at Bobby’s helped you, I can see.”

You loathed it – how this simple comment boosted your mood. You knew you didn’t need his approval, but you wanted it, and desperately so. That was why after you got back from your visit to Sam at Stanford two years ago, you called your father and asked him to let you tag along on his hunts. You insisted you were capable and fit for the job, and he gave you a second chance – on one condition: bring Dean as well. Ever since, you’d all been hunting together. Maybe not necessarily as a unit, but your dad made sure you were always with someone – him or Dean. It was offensive, and it made your chest tighten with unspoken arguments, but you swallowed it back, determined that one day he’d see how good you were out there and deem you fit on his own.

“Thank you,” you said, “…sir.” He flashed you a smile before tapping on the wooden door once and leaving. You heard his truck’s tires screech and he was gone.

That was the last you heard of your father for two whole days.

You tore the whole town trying to find him – any trace of him – with no luck. He wasn’t dead – there was no way he was. No, he  _couldn’t be._ You had to believe he was out there somewhere. Alive. But where was he? Why was his phone out of service?

Could he have left  _on purpose?_

How hadn’t it occurred to you before?  _Dammit, Y/N._ If he’d left on purpose he’d leave a voicemail somewhere, right? Or at least he’d write something in his journal – yes, the journal. You snatched it and started flipping through the pages. Yup.

**_DEAN 35-111_ **

“Fuck, fuck,  _FUCK!_ ” you yelled, frustrated, “Seriously, Dad?  _Seriously?”_

He left  _on purpose._ Without as much as  _telling you_ before he took off. He just left and wrote a clue in his journal for _Dean._ Dean. Because you were invisible, incapable. He told you that you were getting better, but apparently, “better” was not good enough. You’d spent the last two days tearing your heart out, searching everywhere he could have disappeared, afraid he might’ve fallen victim to Welch’s spirit  _somehow_ , even if he didn’t appear to fit the profile (maybe he was in some secret relationship after all).

_Seriously, Dad?_

You slipped out your phone and dialed Dean’s number. He picked up right away. “Hello?”

“It’s Y/N,” you said, “Dad left.”

“I know.”

“You  _know?_ ”

“He left me a voice message today,” he said, “He said something big is about to happen, and that he needs to try to figure out what’s going on –  _alone_. He said we’re all in danger. I’ve been trying to reach you ever since.”

“You know I changed my number.”

“Yeah,” he said, “And you didn’t bother to update me.”

“Whatever, Dean,” you said, “I’m off to find him.”

“Wait –  _no_ ,” he said, “No, Y/N, I swear to God…I’m on my way to Sam, we’re coming to Jericho.  _Stay there._ ”

“ _Sam?_ ” you repeated, “You know what,  _no,_ Dean,” you said, “If you and Sam want to come over here and finish the case then  _great_ , finish it, because I’m leaving and I’m leaving right now,” you decided, “I’ll  _find him_  and I’ll find out what the fuck’s going on.”

“Y/N – _no,_ ” he said, “If he took off without you he wants you to stay away – you might be in –”

“I don’t give a shit!” you said, “I’m tired of this – of all of this. You all treat me like I’m incompetent – I’m  _not._ For fuck’s sake,  _I’m not._ ”

“Stop taking this personally!” Dean yelled, “This isn’t  _about you_  – this is bigger than this, bigger than  _us_ , alright? I can tell,” he said, “We’re dealing with this together,  _as a team._ ”

“This isn’t up for discussion, Dean,” you decided. “I’m leaving.”

“God!” he exclaimed, “Don’t be such a bitch about it – just wait for us, we’ll be there by tomorrow  _maximum._ ”

You knew he was probably, on some level, right. Maybe this was a huge risk – going after your dad like that when he didn’t want to be found, not by you anyway. Maybe waiting for your brothers would be the best course of action for you – all of you. You could use them – you could use their presence and their help even if you knew you could handle this on your own, right?

Did you?

You had no idea what you were up against – what this big thing your dad was talking about actually was. It would be dumb to go after it –  _him –_ unprepared and alone. And you were a lot of things, but you weren’t dumb. Well, not intentionally anyway. Maybe you could let your ego aside for this one time, and if you didn’t like working with your brothers on this, then you could always leave and continue on your own.

“Fine,” you said, “Okay, don’t be –”

Before you could finish your sentence, the lights in the room flickered and the air suddenly felt cold. Your hand automatically flew to your pistol, tucked in the back of your jeans and you glanced around to see if anyone – _anything –_ was there.

“Don’t be what?”

“Shush, wait,” you whispered, crouching, turning around slowly, frantically searching every spot until your eyes caught something moving in the corner, from beneath the door.

Smoke. Black smoke.

Holy shit. You knew what that meant – that was what Bobby talked about all the time. Demons. Crap, you weren’t prepared for this – you couldn’t exorcise something that wasn’t inhibiting a body and you couldn’t kill it. The smoke crept its way down the door, towards you. You looked for an exit any other way but you couldn’t find one. Quickly, you snatched a bottle of salt and was about to draw a circle when the smoke surrounded you and forced you to your knees. Instinctively, you screamed. You screamed, and you twitched, and –

“Y/N? Y/N what’s going on? Y/N!”


	5. Chapter Five

Dean looked out around them as Sam picked the motel room’s lock, lost in his thoughts. Why would Dad just  _leave_ like that – and leave Y/N behind, too, without telling her anything? Where could he have gone?

If something was coming after him, there were a million ways to notify them. Hell, even if he couldn’t reach a phone or freakin’ say it in his voice message, he could’ve told  _the one person who was with him._  This was too weird, even for him. Sure, sometimes he just disappeared, but not like that. Never like that, and never for this long without any sort of contact.

And what was up with Y/N? Why did she –

He was snapped back into reality when Sam’s hand gripped his shoulder and dragged him inside the room, shutting the door behind him. Wow, the place was a  _mess:_ every surface was covered with some sort of paper pinned to it, books were scattered everywhere and – wait, was that…

_Dad’s journal._

“Whoa,” Sam said.

Dean turned on the lights and scrunched his nose. “This place  _reeks._ ”

“Yeah, what’s that smell?” Sam asked, looking down, his eyes pinned on the salt line at his feet. “Kind of like…rotten eggs.” No. No, no, no. “Salt, cats-eye shells. He was worried, trying to keep something from coming in.”

Dean’s eyes traced the salt line, his heart pumping in his chest.  _Please let me be wrong. Please._ Nope. The line was broken. Right at the corner where the wall and the door met. Shit. “And failing.”

“Huh?”

“That smell,” Dean said, his mouth dry, “It’s sulfur. The salt line is broken, right there –” He pointed at it “—You know what this means?”

“What?”

“A demon,” he said, grimacing, “A demon was here.”

“But – when?” Sam asked, “You said it yourself – you were on the phone with Y/N last night, do you think it was after she left?”

Last night, on the phone, Y/N, after implying that she’d wait for them to come to California, changed her mind, insisted she’d leave anyway and try to find their father. He’d cussed and hung up on her, but when he tried to call her again it went straight to voicemail. It was weird, though, how she screamed in the middle of the call – like she was in pain, serious pain, not the crap she said – “I stubbed my toe.” He was too angry afterwards to call her out on it, and when he calmed down and tried to call again, it was too late.

But now, with the salt line broken and the sulfur reeking in the whole room, his mind made the connection – the one thing this could mean, but he refused to believe it, let alone word it. No, she couldn’t be possessed. She couldn’t be taken by some demon somewhere. No, Y/N would never let that happen.

Right?

“What? What is it?”

He had to be wrong. She had to be okay. He had to believe she was okay, and looking for Dad. Maybe she’ll call. She’ll call. They’ll find her. And they’ll find Dad.

“Nothing,” Dean said. Even if he  _could_ word his worries to his little brother, he wouldn’t. Sam – Sam didn’t need to be discouraged right now. He needed him, and Y/N being in trouble would definitely motivate him to stay, but he couldn’t do that to him. As much as he hated to admit it, and as much as he would love for him to join him on his journey, he made a promise. Sam had to go back. He had a life, and a home – something none of them had, ever. He couldn’t take that away.

He could find them on his own. He didn’t want to, but he could.

—

**July 19 th, 2006**

“Before he –  _before._  Did he say anything to you? About anything?”

“No,” Dean lied, his voice hoarse, staring at his father’s burning corpse, “Nothing.”

“Not even about Y/N?”

He tensed, clenching his fists. Eight months. It had been eight whole months since the last any of them heard from Y/N – ever since that day in Jericho. At first, he brushed the whole idea off – the idea of her being possessed, taken – and focused on following their dad’s trail, hoping to find her somewhere along the way, or  _with him._  But when they found him – when they reached him and she just wasn’t there –all his hopes of her being well shattered. They did everything –  _everything –_ to find her: went through every code they ever taught each other, every police report, every hospital record that could by any chance be here. Nothing. Nothing at all.

This morning, when John warned Dean about Sam, he let something slip. “ _I couldn’t save your sister. I tried. God knows I tried.”_

Couldn’t  _save her._

At this point, his biggest fear wasn’t that she was dead. His biggest fear was that it was  _worse._ That she’d been walking around for eight whole months  _in need of saving_  and they were slacking behind, hunting, going on cases when they could’ve found her instead. They assumed –  _he_ assumed – when they –  _he –_ could’ve known better.

It was his fault. This, too, was his fault.

“He said he couldn’t save her.”

“…what?” Sam breathed, his voice shaky. He was holding tears as it was, before this. “Dad said that? That he couldn’t save her? What does that mean?” he asked, frantic, “Is she – is she dead, too? Did she die? Did – did he _know_ she was dead and –”

“I don’t think she’s dead.”

Sam scoffed. “Dean,” he said, “Look around you! We’re not exactly immune to –”

“Remember Meg?” he asked quietly, “She said something, when she had us tied up. Something about her.”

“She said she knew what kind of business she was up to.”

“No,” he said, “She said she made a great business woman.”

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

He sighed. “Hell if I know,” he mumbled, “But – there’s something you should know. This theory I had. About her.”

“What theory?”

“I think –” He licked his lips. “—I think the day I visited you at Stanford, she – she was…taken.”

“Taken? Didn’t you talk on the phone with her?”

He shook his head. “Not taken as in kidnapped,” he said, “Taken as in possessed.”

Sam’s features shifted from grief to anger in a flash. “And you’re just telling me  _now?_  It’s been – what? Nine months? Eight?  _Now_ you bring up that she might be  _possessed_? This whole –”

“What good would it have made, huh?” Dean said, taking a step back, “I know I fucked up, but – but I thought she was with  _him_ and ever since I found out she wasn’t I’ve been going  _crazy_. We were doing everything we could and we still couldn’t  _find her._ ”

“You – you’re  _unbelievable._ ” Dean stayed silent. He knew it was his fault, he knew it was all on him. Whatever she went –  _was going –_ through was on him. “Do you care about her  _at all_?”

He stared at his little brother in disbelief. Did he  _care_ about Y/N? Of course he cared about her! She was his sister, for fuck’s sake, his  _responsibility_ and not just that – he loved her and – and  _of course_ he cared about her!

How could he even  _suggest_ otherwise?

Without thinking, he balled his fist and punched Sam square in the jaw, sending him stumbling back. “Don’t you _dare_! Don’t you fucking dare!”

—

**November, 2006**

**Greenwood, Mississippi**

There was no time – he had to get that idiot Evan’s deal scrubbed and  _fast._ The hellhounds were probably circling in on him right now. One minute late and they’d lose him and as much as it enraged Dean – saving the man who signed his own death certificate, willingly because why was it even  _fair?_ Why did  _they_ get to have their ten years of glory (or of health, in Evan’s wife’s case) before their time was due? And why save them  _now_? Spare them all the pain – the price they bargained for? Why did their loved ones get to live without the burden of knowing someone died and went to  _hell_ for them? –he had to get it done. He had to save his sorry ass.

So he replaced the picture in the box with his, stood at the crossroads across from Lloyd’s and buried it. Right away, he sensed a presence behind him. The demon. He turned around and was about to speak when he froze. His vocal cords might’ve as well been nonexistent.

It was Y/N. His sister.

She was standing right in front of him, in a black dress that looked weird on her, since she was never the one for dresses, and a menacing smile on her face. Before he could even wrap his mind around it, her eyes flashed red, and all the walls in his mind came crumbling down.

_That’s where she was. That’s what possessed her._

_That’s_ my  _fault._

“So, what brings a guy like  _you_ to a place like  _this_?” Her voice. It was her voice. He fought the urge to tear up. “You called me?”

He forces a smile on his face. “I’m just glad it worked.”

“First time?”

“You could say that.”  _Was the demon completely oblivious to who he was? Didn’t she know he was her meat suit’s brother?_

“Oh, come on now,” she said, “Don’t sell yourself short. I know all about you, Dean Winchester.”

“So you know who I am,” he said, walking towards her.

She looked down at herself and back at him, a grin plastered on her face. “Don’t underestimate me,” she said, “What can I do for you, Dean?”

“Maybe we should do this in my car.”  _Stick to the plan. Stick to the damn plan, don’t get distracted._ “Nice and private.”

“Sounds good to me.”

As they strolled towards the car, Dean’s heart pounded in his chest. This  _had_ to go according to plan. If he did as much as  _breathe_ wrong, not only is Evan royally fucked, but he might not get a chance to see or save his sister ever again. He had to go through with this, every step of the way.  _Stay calm. It won’t be long._

“So I was hoping we could strike a deal.”

“That’s what I do.”

“I want Evan Hudson released from his contract,” he said,  _and I want Y/N back, you bitch._

“Hmm,” she said, “So sorry, darling. That’s not negotiable.”

He cleared the lump in his throat. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

She turned around. “Oh really?” she asked. God, it was so weird hearing her voice yet not  _her._  “What are you offering?”

“Me.”

“Well, well, well,” she said, a smile playing on the corner of her lips, “You’d sacrifice your life for someone else’s. Like father like son – you did know about his deal didn’t you?” At that point, it was becoming difficult to breathe without thinking it through. “Though, I have to say, I thought you’d ask for your sister back instead. I suppose she really  _was_ the black sheep of the family,” she said, “Just like she always thought.”

He grit his teeth and just as he opened the Impala’s door for her, she glanced down and noticed the poorly-drawn Devil’s Trap beneath the car. “A Devil’s Trap? You’ve got to be kidding me.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You stupid, stupid – I should rip you limb from limb.”

“Take your best shot.”

She breathed heavily. “No, I don’t think so,” she said, “I’m not going to put you out of your misery.”

“Yeah? Why not?”

Her smile returned. “Because your misery’s the whole point,” she said, “It’s too fun to watch. Knowing how your daddy died for you, how he sold his soul – knowing your little sis has been possessed for a whole year.” She walked towards him. “And I gave her the full show, too – I let her watch, I showed her –  _everything._  The stuff she’s seen with me…” He leaned against a wooden structure, trying to contain his reactions.  _Not much longer,_ he thought. “You blew it, Dean! I could’ve given you what you need.”

“What do I need?”

“Your father,” she said, “And your sister,” she added, “I could’ve brought them both back to you. Your loss. See ya, Dean. I wish you a nice  _long_ life.”

“Hold on.”

She stopped, smiling once more. He stayed put, looking down, feigning hurt. “You’re lucky I’ve got a soft spot for lost puppies and long faces. I just can’t leave you like this. Besides –you didn’t call me here to bargain for Evan. Not really.”

“Can you really bring him back? My dad?”

“Of course I can,” she said, “Just as he was. He’d live a long, natural life. Promise.”

“What about me?”

“I could give you ten years. Ten long good years with him,  _and her_. That’s a lifetime. The family can be together again. John, Dean, Sammy, Y/N. The Winchester squad all reunited,” she said, “Look. Your dad’s supposed to be alive. You’re supposed to be dead. So we’ll just set things straight, put things back in their natural order. And you get ten extra years and your sister on top. That’s a bonus.”

She was close enough now –  _good._ He walks farther away, stepping outside the other trap’s zone. “You think you could throw in a set of steak knives?”

“You know this smartass mechanism of yours –” She saw the trap. “ _Dean!”_

“Now you’re really trapped,” he said, “That’s gotta hurt.”

“Let me out.  _Now._ ”

 _Stick to the plan._ “Sure. We just gotta make a little deal here first. You call off your Hellhounds and let Evan go. Then I’ll let you go.”

“I can’t break a binding contract?”

“Can’t or won’t?” he asked. She stayed silent. “That’s what I thought. Last chance. Evan and his wife get to live to a ripe old age. Going, going…”

“Let’s talk about this –”

He pulled out his dad’s journal. “Okay, gone,” he said, “ _Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino’ qui fertis super caelum, caeli ad Orientem Ecce dabit voci Suae, vocem virtutis, tribuite virtutem Deo Deus caeli, Deus terrae, humiliter majestati gloriae Tuae supplicamus ut ab omni infernalium spirituum potestate, laqueo, deceptione et nequitia, omnis fallaciae, libera nos, Domine. Vade, Satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis. Humiliare sub potenti manu Dei—”_

“Wait!”

He stopped reading, glancing up at her questioningly. She motioned for him to come closer, and he did, before she raised her arm and grabbed the back of his neck, locking him in a kiss.

He was going to throw up right there and then.

“What the hell was that for?!”

“Sealing the deal.”

He had to swallow back his puke, literally, watching her warily. “I usually like to be warned before I’m violated with demon tongue.”  _With my sister’s demonic – gaah._

“Evan Hudson is free. He and his wife will live long lives.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“My word is my bond. It’s the rules. You got what you wanted, now let me go.”

_No way in hell, bitch._

He took a couple of steps back, outside the trap’s area, rolling the rosary in his hand. She started protesting, saying stuff about how she was now the trustworthy one, how she’d climb back from hell and the first thing she was going to do was skin Evan Hudson.

_Evan Hudson or Y/N?_

No choice there. He went on with the exorcism, until the very end. She – the demon, and his sister – screamed, her body slumping to the ground as that bitch smoked out of her, into the ground. Y/N glanced around her frantically, her eyes landing on her brother, out of breath.

“Where – where am I?”


	6. Chapter Six

“Where – where am I?”

Dean held out a hand towards you and, as soon as you took it, pulled you into a tight hug. His collar brushed your neck, his arms pressed hard into your back, his chest heaving beneath you. You stood perfectly still, your arms hanging by your side, trying to think – to comprehend. The proximity – the feeling of something, someone – anything, anyone – against you directly, every nerve-ending and every breath  _yours_ and completely yours, not that demon’s, knocked the breath out of you.

“Dean. Stop.”

Confused, he pulled away, hands still on your shoulders. “Are –”

“Don’t touch me. Please,” you asked, your voice quiet. He dropped his hands immediately, his eyes searching yours for some sort of answer. “I just –”  _God, the sound of your own voice._ The same voice you heard over and over for the past year – threatening, making deals –

You couldn’t speak anymore. You couldn’t bear the tightness in your chest that came with it.

You shrugged and took a step back, your breaths loud in your ears. Wind blew past you, sending shivers down your spine.  _You’re alone_.  _You’re in control. You’re standing, moving, breathing on your own._ You turned around and looked back at Dean questioningly, still refusing to hear your own voice again.  _Not now._ It took him a second, but he understood you. “Greenwood, Mississippi,” he said, “Come on, let’s get you in the car and get Sam.”

 _Sam? Sam was with him permanently now?_ You wanted to ask, you wanted to know, but you couldn’t. You were feeling too much, thinking too much, that you were starting to think this was one of  _her_ mind games all over again. Sometimes she’d black you out completely, send you roaming in your own head, replaying memories or – or creating new ones. You weren’t sure what was real and what wasn’t at times, but right now – all those feelings – the smell, the temperature, the cracking in a distance, the coldness of the Impala’s metal frame against your hand – they were real. You were pretty sure they were.

“How – I – are you okay?” Dean asked as you both sat down in the car. You shrugged. “Say something, Y/N, anything, please.”

You shook your head, leaning on the seat, focusing your concentration on him instead of all the sounds and all the nerves. He looked…different. Older. It had been a year, you supposed, but still – there was something about him. Maybe – maybe it was Dad. How he died. Why he died.

Yeah.  _That_  you knew.

She had so much fun with you – toying with your head, making you see and hear just the things that would fuck you up the most. Last July, Azazel summoned her – you – to the meeting he had with your dad. Your dad saw you. He saw you and he  _cried_ and you didn’t know he was even  _capable_ of crying but he was. He tried to get Azazel to let you go, as well as bring Dean back to life, in exchange for the Colt and his soul, but he couldn’t. He made him choose – you or Dean.

He chose Dean.

Maybe it was justified on some level – maybe because he knew you weren’t dead, that maybe one day she’d smoke out of you for any reason. But at that moment, at that exact moment, she let you feel. She let you feel and talk and _see_ for yourself. You looked into your father’s eyes after he made the choice for one second – one split second – before she regained control again.

But he knew. He knew, and you knew he did.

“C’mon,” your brother said, driving like a maniac, “Anything? It’s okay, you’re okay, I won’t let anything like that happen to you again.”

_It doesn’t matter, once was enough._

“You’re safe now, I promise.”

_It doesn’t matter, I’m not afraid._

“I…we missed you, so much,” he said, “We tried looking for you – everywhere, I swear. We tried – not hard enough, apparently,” he explained, “But we  _tried_ , I swear, Y/N. I swear we did.”

_It doesn’t matter, you couldn’t have found me anyway._

_It doesn’t matter. Not really. Nothing does._

You stayed perfectly silent during the whole ride and he did, too, only occasionally glancing your way, like he was making sure you were real. You leaned on the window, distracting yourself with the floating imagery. After you stopped, his hand squeezed your shoulder. You exhaled sharply, flinching.

“Okay, okay, no touching, I get it,” he mumbled, “Wait here, I’ll get Sam.” He opened the door and was about to step out but he stopped. “No, I can’t leave you here alone,” he said, more to himself than to you, you thought. “I’ll call Sam.”

He didn’t tell him, though – he didn’t warn him. So as soon as Sam saw the car, with you inside it, he stopped, his eyes wide. You smiled at him, weakly, barely, and he covered his mouth with his hand, walking slowly towards you. “Y/N? Is that you?”

You nodded. He shot a glance towards Dean as if to confirm. “It’s her.”

And then he hugged you. He hugged you and you almost cried.

—

**September 18 th, 2008**

Numbers, numbers, numbers.

That was what everything boiled down to, wasn’t it? Everything that happened, everything that will happen. Everyone – every breath and every move and every decision – they all came down to simple numbers, simple calculations.

_One dead brother, one lost brother._

_Two Winchesters in hell, two Winchesters on the loose._

Your life came swirling down and kept doing so  _over and over and over_ until the last straw snapped and you lost Dean to hell. Dean – your brother, your support. The one person you talked to for months after the demon left you, the one person who anchored you, kept you on track in the middle of all the mess. Your teammate, your reality amidst the haze you purposely put yourself into – the alcohol you drowned your senses in, the hunting that kept you distracted.

Sam – Sam was great, too. He tried to help, he really did, but he was knee-deep into his own mess, you knew, and it wasn’t your job to be his burden, it was your job to protect him, to guide him through  _his_ haze, to figure out what the demons had planned for him and stop it.

Your job to keep him from dying. Keep your other brother from losing his soul to bring him back.

_Three years wasted, three months focused._

_Twelve months a demon, twelve days sucking the life out of one._

Four months ago, you buried Dean. Bobby suggested you gave him a hunter’s funeral – torch his body, give him peace somehow but neither of you would have it. You had to find a way to bring him back, a way to set things right again. A way  _out._ It was on you now, it was you responsibility to get this family in order, together, focused. He had to stay in one piece – well, the piece the hellhounds left of him anyway. There had to be a door left open for when you finally figure it out.

A month after Dean’s death, you and Sam got separated. It was inevitable; you argued all the time, and every single argument was about Dean. What Sam should do, what you should do – who of you should be lost into this battle. You knew the price, eventually – it was one soul for the other, whether it was through a deal or through hoodoo or whatever. And it had to be yours. It had to be you, you couldn’t let Sam do it and he couldn’t let  _you_ do it, so you separated, on a race. If you didn’t figure this out fast enough, then you’d lose one brother in exchange for the other.

You couldn’t have that.

Dean couldn’t come back to find Sam gone – and for what? To bring him back? That would destroy him. You, on the other hand, were dispensable. He never said it (who would, really?) but you knew it was true. If it came down to a choice, Dean would choose Sam, and Sam would choose Dean.

Like your father did.

And you were okay with it, you just wanted this life to be done and over. You wanted to stop chasing after illusions and drinking your way through the day and hunting your nightmares away and, and, and –

“You gonna stare all day, or are you gonna come here and get it done?”

You circled around the demon – the cuffed, trapped demon – with a void smile on your face. You bit your tongue and stood in front of him, tilting your head. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you dwelled, taking a step closer and straddling him roughly, yanking his head back. “You little fucker.”

He grunted and swallowed hard. “No, I’m not.”

You leaned in to whisper into his ear. “I think you’re lying,” you said. You got out your –  _Dean’s_ – switchblade and dug into the vein in his neck. He hissed. “You like this,” you said, “You like that I come here and get my fix every day.”

“You  _want_ me to like it?”

You chuckled as you pressed your lips to his wound and sucked out his blood, every drop bringing you a little more towards the surface – bringing you to life. Not the you from four months ago, the  _new_ you. Y/N Winchester, new and improved. You’d known, ever since your possession, about what Brady did to you, what he got you on, and maybe you weren’t one of the Special Children, and maybe you were less immune to demonic powers than Sam was, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t use the substance to your advantage. It got you a lot stronger – mentally and physically and boy, oh boy could you play with demons like you  _owned_ the fuckers. Maybe it was the wrong path, but it was just – collateral damage. A mean’s to an end. If demons were your way to bringing Dean back and none of them would strike a deal with you, then you could control them instead, and keep controlling them until you could get him back, once and for all.

It was collateral, like you.

“Far from it,” you muttered when you were done, digging your hand in your back pocket and bringing out the small bottle of holy water, spilling it on your hands. You brushed over the open wound and he screamed, his eyes flashing black.  _Yeah, that’s right._

“You sadistic  _bitch!_ ”

You brought your wet hands up to the back of his neck, his screams amusing to say the least, and pushed him forward towards you. “Call me a bitch one more time and I’ll fucking IV holy water into your bloodstream.”

“You think you can keep me here forever?” he spat as you got up, wiping your lips, “I don’t move alone – they’ll –”

You grinned and brought your hand up in the air, twisting your fingers. His neck twitched and he let out one more, delicious scream. “They’ll  _what_?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

_Damn right, you are._

You walked out of the room you had him in – the concrete room inside the abandoned house you found for yourself in the middle of the woods and redecorated, soundproof, with no windows or wood he can break, with not one but two devil’s traps keeping him in – one on the ceiling, invisible, and the other on the floor. You stretched your limbs and logged into your computer in the living room, checking where your next hit would be. The plan wasn’t to stop Lilith – no, that was Sam’s plan, you couldn’t care less about the bitch anymore –it was to find a way to literally go to hell and back.

At least,  _partially_ back. You could stay there for all you cared. It wasn’t like you hadn’t earned it.

Your next target was this other demon – a more powerful hit than your usual missions – called Crowley. A crossroads demon and, as rumor had it, Lilith’s bitch. If anyone knew the road to hell, it was him. Well, or Lilith, but you weren’t strong enough to tango with the big boss, not yet, so Crowley would have to do.

You were one step closer to tracking his ass down. Just one step. If you could only –

_Oh who’s calling right now?_

Huffing, you picked up your old cell and answered. “Yes?”

“Y/N?”

You paused.  _No. No way._ “Who is this?”

“It’s  _me,_ Y/N – Dean.”

Your heart sunk in your chest. You didn’t know what was worse – that it could be someone impersonating him to get to you, or that it really  _was_ him and Sam beat you into it. “How do I know it’s you, ‘ _Dean_ ’?”

He sighed and paused for a second. “Last year you got so drunk you came home with a tramp stamp.”

“This is public information.”

“Jesus, really? That thing had clowns in it.”

“What kind of clowns?”

“The kind that looked exactly like the ones from the carnival where I used to leave you and Sam at as kids. Same purple hair, even.”

Holy fuck. Holy  _fuck._ No, no – no way – but – how could he – the whole – “Meet me at Bobby’s,” you said, “And I swear to God, if you’re not who you say you are, I’ll fucking rip you apart and feed you to hellhounds myself.”


	7. Chapter Seven

It was him, it was really him.

By the time you’d made it to Bobby’s they’d already met and Bobby’d already checked to see if he was a shape-shifter or a demon or any creature that could take Dean’s form. Granted, you didn’t take Bobby’s word for it – you checked if  _either_ of them was a shape-shifting creature, and they weren’t. They weren’t demons, either, you knew that for sure, since you would’ve been able to sense them – feel their energy, crave their blood.

 _Fuck,_ it was him.

Even now, as the three of you stood in front of Sam’s motel room, it was all pretty surreal. That was what you’d been working for during those last three months – that was your endgame. You should’ve been happy, right? You should’ve been relieved your brother was out of hell and right with you, but you weren’t. None of you were. Because the fact that he was pulled out of hell could only mean one thing.

Sam beat you to the finish line.

He must’ve found a way – blackmailed some demon, or maybe he drifted off and found a way through the pagans. It was a possibility, something you had written down. The pagans may have no control over hell, but they had connections in powerful places. Either way, it was bad mojo. There was no way he could’ve gotten a soul out of hell without giving up more in return.

Dean knocked on the door and a small brunette answered in her underwear. The moment you laid eyes on her you knew – you knew what she was.  _Son of a bitch._ “So, where is it?” she asked.

“Where’s what?”

“The pizza?” she said, pulling an innocent act, “That apparently takes three people to deliver?”

 _How dare she? How_ dare  _she?_

You balled your hands into tight fists. Was it a coincidence that a freakin’ demon answered the door to Sam’s room? Hell no. What now? He was her bitch? Was that it? He traded his soul for his brother’s and added a little extra on the top? “I think we got the wrong room,” Dean said.

“No, that’s Sam’s room alright,” you muttered, crossing your arms.

Bobby threw you a questioning look right before Sam showed up and froze, his eyes flicking between the three of you. “Heya, Sammy,” Dean said, walking inside. You stayed quiet, glaring at that little bitch. She’d pay for that – for Sam, for  _being_ there.

Just as Dean walked inside Sam came at him with a knife. Bobby was closer than you, so he pulled him off of his older brother, gripping him by the shoulder as he yelled, “Who are you?”

 _Seriously?_ “Like you didn’t do this?” Dean said.

“Do  _what_?”

“It’s him,” you said, “And this is Bobby and I’m me,” you added, your voice dripping acid, “I checked,” you said and pulled out your silver knife, pulling up your sleeve, drawing it on your arm. “See? Reliable source.”

Sam frowned, visibly calming down. “Wha – what?”

Dean beamed. “I know, I look fantastic, huh?”

He stared at him for a second, tears in his eyes, and locked him in a long hug. The bitch standing in the corner raised her eyebrows and asked, “So are you two like…together?”

You huffed. “Okay, that’s it,” you said, “You,  _out,_ now.”

“Excuse me?”

All three men stared at you but you didn’t care. Sam could wait, but she – she had to go,  _now._  You didn’t give a shit what Dean and Bobby thought of you now; you’d explain later. “You can go nicely or I can  _make_ you,” you said, “Your choice.”

The only reason you weren’t exorcising her right now was that you’d have a lot of explaining to do, especially to the less-than-welcoming-to-psychic-powers brother – Dean. If she was connected to Sam, then you could always go back to her later. Summon her, drink her dry then send her ass back to where she belonged. “Y/N –” Sam started.

“Don’t,” you said, looking anywhere but his eyes, afraid you’d spill too much too soon.

Dean raised his eyebrows at you while Bobby’s look was more pensive, questioning. She scrunched her nose. “Are you his girlfriend or something?”

 _That’s it._ You turned to your brothers with a fake smile plastered to your face. “Excuse me for a second.”

Without another word, you gripped her upper arm and pushed her out, shutting the door behind you despite Sam’s protests, and flicked her hard against the wall, holding her by her throat. “I—”

“ _Shush_.” You raised her up to meet your eye-level. “Listen, you little bitch,” you said, “I don’t know who you are or what kind of deal you have worked out with Sam, but I  _swear_  –” you flicked your finger and she was choking on her own – well, smoke “—if you show your face anywhere near him or me again, you’re going back where you came from.”

She struggled against your grip and you loosened it a bit, just to hear what she had to say. “He  _wants_ me around,” she spat, “There’s no  _deal_ , he wants me around because he needs my help.”

“Your  _help_?” you retorted, letting out a breathy laugh. “Right. Yeah, that stops now.”

“Look,” she said, “Work out whatever issues you have with your brother away from me. I answer to  _him,_ and I help _him_ , not you.”

“Is that so?” you said, “What is it with you? Do you have a death wish?” That shut her up. “Don’t come back or you’re dead. I won’t even bother with hell,” you said, “I’ll just kill your pathetic ass. Lucky for  _you_  –” you stepped back and let her fall onto the ground, rubbing her sore neck “—I’m in a forgiving mood today –” You weren’t, but you couldn’t let her know you had a weakness – your brothers’ knowledge “—so get back in there, get your clothes with your pretty little smile on, walk out and  _never come back._ ”

She nodded and hurried back inside, fetched her clothes and walked back out. Sam was about to say something when he caught your glare and shut up. Normally, he’d ask you what the bitch-fit was all about, but he must’ve caught the seriousness in your tone or attitude – knew not to mess with you. Not today.

Once she was gone, you stepped back into the room. “What’d I miss?”

“It wasn’t Sam,” Dean said, his eyes wary, “We’re going to see a psychic Bobby knows, maybe she can help us figure this out.”

“And you’re okay with that?” you asked Sam.

“I –”

“It  _wasn’t him_ ,” Bobby interjected, “What’s up with you anyway?”

You took a deep breath. “Nothing,” you said, “Dean – why don’t you take the keys to the Impala and warm her up? Sam and I will be right down.”

“What’s going on?” he asked, “What happened between you two?”

“Nothing, just  _go!_ ”

“No!” Dean said, “You have to tell me –  _right now –_  what happened? Why’d you two split up to begin with?”

“Jesus, Dean, just GO!” you yelled, frustrated. You couldn’t put your finger on it exactly, but sometime after Dean went to hell you lost all the patience in you. “We’ll have the chick flick talk  _later_. I’m assuming we have a long-ass drive ahead of us.”

He blinked. “What –”

“Let’s go, Dean,” Bobby sighed, “Let them work this out on their own.”

You raised your eyebrow at your older brother, motioning towards the door –  _you heard the man._ Begrudgingly, he grabbed the keys from the table and walked out. Bobby did, too, but not before shooting you a warning glance – _play nice._

“What the hell, Sam?”

He rolled his eyes. “Nice to meet you, too, Y/N,” he said, “It’s been – what? – three months? No calls, no messages – nothing.” He sat down on the edge of the bed. “And when you finally come to see me, you don’t say anything – just grab the girl I’m with and kick her out. What the hell is your problem?”

“Oh,” you said, “Did I miss your million messages, Sam?” you asked, “I didn’t call you and you didn’t call me, either. Don’t play that card.” You leaned your side against the wall. “And how stupid do you think I am?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t think I know a demon when I see one?” You scoffed. “What did you get yourself into, Sam? What was that bitch doing here?”

He frowned. “How did you know?”

 _I can sense her demonic presence. I can feel the blood in her veins, the power just_ waiting  _to be sucked –_ “I just did,” you said, “ _Answer me._ ”

“That – that’s Ruby,” he said, “She’s been helping me find Lilith.”

“ _Ruby?_ ”

“Yes,” he said, standing up, “Look, I was desperate, okay? You told me not to come back if I was still on Lilith’s track, so I didn’t,” he explained like it was  _just that simple_. “I’m handling this.”

“Yes,” you said, “You’re handling this  _very well_  – exhibit A?  _The demon you’re sleeping with._ ”

“She’s different – she’s –”

“No,” you said, “No, they’re all the same.”  _They even taste the same._ “She’s a demon, and that’s it. There’s all there is to it. She’ll  _never help you_  if there isn’t anything in it  _for her._ ”

He crossed the distance between the bed and the door in two easy strides. “Let’s just agree to disagree.”

You gritted your teeth. That was what you told him when he said it was better for both of you if you stuck together and figured it out instead of fighting all the time. It wasn’t a mutual decision, it was  _yours._ “I don’t regret it, you know.”

“Don’t regret what?”

“Us splitting up,” you said, “Aside from the fact that you had to resort to  _Ruby_ for help.”

“Of course,” he said, yanking the door open, “Well for Dean’s sake, at least try to pretend you can stand me until we know what’s going on with him and then I’ll leave, gladly.”

 _Is that what he thought?_ That you couldn’t stand him? The only reason you couldn’t be around him was that you _cared_ about him. You knew you were spiraling down a slippery slope and you didn’t want him anywhere near you, especially with him insisting on finding Lilith and taking revenge – for Dean’s life, for every life. She had to be stopped, in his opinion and you just couldn’t agree less.

Maybe you didn’t care much for his train of thought, but you cared about  _him –_ your brother, your mission.

_Sammy._

“Wait.”

His fist clenched against the doorframe. “What?”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?” he asked, “You’re right, I’m – I’m the reason Dean had to sell his soul,” he said, “I’ve been cursed since the very start. I’m the freak and I can’t change that – you don’t have to endure me. I’m not your responsibility, not anymore.”

“ _No,_ Sam,” you said, “It’s not – you’re not the freak of this family.”  _You’re not the one who can’t go two days without gulping down demon blood. You’re not the one who’s lost all remorse._ “I am and –” you licked your lips “—when this is over – when we find out what happened to Dean, what pulled him out –”  _Since it’s apparently not you_ “—I’ll leave.”

“ _Why?_ ” he asked, “Why can’t we just all…get along? Stay together?”

_Because I’m beyond saving, Sam, and the minute you two figure out what I’ve been up to, you wouldn’t want to leave me, no – you’d want to kill me. I have to leave. I can’t let you live with the blood of your dead sister on your hands, you’ve had enough to deal with for one lifetime._

“Maybe we will.”

—

**September 26 th, 2008**

Why couldn’t the world be wrapped up in neat little boxes?

Why couldn’t everyone just fall into their stereotype? Why couldn’t there be one label for everyone – one mold that could define them, with little differences?

Why couldn’t Sam be the smart one, Dean be the best shot, and you be the black sheep?

Why did Sam have to fall down the same slope you did? Why couldn’t you the good big sister – the protective big sister? Why did you let him go? Why, why, why?

When they say the road to hell is paved with good intentions they’re not kidding. When you started consuming the blood on your own schedule, you thought you were just gaining a skill – a tool – to help you get Dean back but now that he  _was_ back, you couldn’t give it up. You couldn’t just let go – you  _liked it._  You liked the power it gave you over demons – the ones who screwed you over and fucked every last bit of your mind for a  _year_ – and you liked the apathy that came along. You couldn’t  _care_ too much anymore, you couldn’t bring yourself to experience that sort of emotion towards anything or anyone. Even now, while you were glad you were back with your brothers on some level, you didn’t care for them. Not really. Consciously, you wanted to. You wanted to pretend it was all for them somehow, that you were still the same Y/N that fought along their side before Dean was taken by hellhounds but you  _weren’t._

You knew you weren’t and you didn’t give a shit.

You weren’t exactly happy now, but you were comfortable, powerful, in control. For the first time since 2005 you were at your top game. You felt like you could do  _anything_ and  _so what_ if it came from  _demons_? So what if the source of your powers was, literally, hell?

_Who cares?_

But even though you only pretended to care for them, the minute you found out about Sam’s psychic abilities – the way he exorcised that demon while you and Dean watched – and therefore, silently, concluded that he was definitely consuming demon blood (on some early level; he was still having difficulty exorcising him and he definitely couldn’t kill him) there was something inside of you that screamed  _NO. No, not him. Don’t let him go down the same road._

You kept to yourself throughout the whole argument Dean had with Sam about how wrong and unnatural what he was doing was – about how, if he didn’t know him, he’d want to hunt him. You flinched at that. “ _Don’t you have anything to say? Anything at all?”_ Dean had asked, “ _You know what? Don’t. I still don’t know what_ you’ve  _been up to.”_

Castiel had told him to stop you, too.

Right now, they’d both considerably calmed down and went to sleep. Thankfully, you had your own room, so once you knew they were both asleep and wouldn’t just randomly barge in, you went out, got your car and fled to a deserted area on the road. You stepped out of the car and pushed the trunk open, the cold breeze sending shivers down your spine.

You were beyond saving, you knew you were – and you didn’t want to be saved anyway. The only thought on your mind right now was  _blood, blood, blood._ It had been  _three_ days since your last fix. Three. Days. The longest you’d gone before, in the last three months, was  _one day._ You were surprised you could even  _function_ at that point.

You didn’t even bother with the devil’s trap. You just got out the ingredients needed for the summoning and proceeded with the ritual. Once the demon appeared, you poured a whole bottle of holy water on him, got out your knife and you slit the vein in his neck open, ignoring his cries. The more you sucked out of him, the weaker he was compared to you.

Once it was over you wiped your mouth clean and stood up over his slumped body, hand in the air, eager to  _use_ your power just one more time and  _feel_ his pathetic, demonic life wilt away. There was a screech in the background – a car – but you didn’t care. After all, it  _was_ a road.

The demon looked at you with wide eyes as you twitched your fingers, almost  _feeling_ him get out of that guy’s body –  _out, out, out_ and then you balled your hand into a fist and  _crushed_ it, the vein in your neck aching, your own blood dripping down your nose, using every cell and every  _nerve_ until he was gone, for good. Dead.

“What the  _fuck_?”

Dean.


	8. Chapter Eight

“What the  _fuck?_ ”

Calming your breaths, you turned to your older brother, still in a bit of a haze. His eyes kept flicking between you and the dying body of the demon’s host – he was probably bleeding out; you  _did_ slice his throat – and he froze in his place, breathing hard, his face that of true horror. Not anger or annoyance, like it was when he saw Sam exorcising that other demon earlier with Ruby, but sheer horror.

Sam was –if physically possible— _worse._ He looked like he was about to cry, or pass out – you weren’t sure. He walked towards you slowly, carefully. You raised your arms up as if in defeat, your smile unapologetic. You didn’t need to explain yourself to them. More importantly, you didn’t  _want_ to. “You killed him.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Well, technically,” you said, “He ain’t dead yet.”  _But he’s well on his way._

Dean was still silent. Sam stood two feet away from you. “Not  _him_ ,” he said, “The demon.”

Your smile was a full-on smirk now. “ _That_  I did.”

“You  _killed_ him?” Dean repeated, “You  _killed_ the demon? With your  _mind?_ ”

You sighed. “Yes, Dean,” you said, “It’s really not a hard concept. Sammy here,” you said, tilting your head, “Exorcised that other one earlier. I don’t exorcise, that’s pretty lame – and they  _do_ crawl out to bite you in the ass, you know.”

Your first kill was a fresh-out-of-hell demon, and not  _any_ demon – it was that crossroads bitch who had you trapped inside your own damn mind for a year. She’d crawled out of hell and you gathered up every cell in you – every piece of energy inside of you – and crushed her into oblivion. Where did demons go after they died anyway? Purgatory? Nothingness? You didn’t know, and you didn’t care.

“So – what? What is this?” Dean asked, regaining his composure, shooting a wary glance towards the now-dead body. “You two a team or something? Been working together the whole time? Is that why you split up?” he asked, “Disagreed over technicalities?  _What the hell happened to you?_ ”

“Yeah, Sam,” you said, raising your eyebrows at him, “ _Tell him_ , why can I do this –” you raised your arm behind your back, in the general direction of the limp body and lifted it up, throwing it across the road to the other side.

“ _Holy crap,”_  Dean said, “Sam?!”

“I – I don’t know,” he said, frowning, his lips quivering like a beaten puppy. “I – I know why  _I’m_ like this – Yellow Eyes…the blood in my nursery but – but her – I…”

“Oh quit stuttering,” you snapped, “Two-thousand and three,” you said, “The prestigious Stanford University – your buddy hooked me up with some pretty sweet stuff.”

“My –  _Brady?_ ”

“That’s the one.”

“He hooked you up with  _demon blood_?” Dean asked, “See, Sam I get,” he said, “He was six months old, he didn’t know better but you? You were  _twenty-three_  – how could you even –”

You shrugged. “I was high,” you said, “And pretty drunk. I had no idea what happened until my possession.” You stared at Sam straight in the eyes. “Why don’t you fill him in on what happened next,  _hmm_? Why can I do this now, Sammy?”

“Sam?”

He didn’t say anything, he just grabbed your shoulder, spun you around roughly and cuffed you. “We have to get her out of here – away,” he said, “Call Bobby.” Dean, still somewhat shaken, nodded at his brother, despite his argument with him earlier, and got out his phone on his way to the Impala where Sam was practically dragging you.

 _Cuffs? Really?_ “What are you gonna do?” you asked, “Lock me up? Kill me?”

He leaned to whisper in your ear, “You went too far.”

“Yeah because  _you’re_ in great control,” you muttered, “This is where you’re headed, little brother. There’s no way out.”

Dean got into the car and the engine buzzed to life. “I  _save_ people,” he said, “I –”

“You think you’re better than me, Sammy?” you asked, “You think you can walk on that line and not fall?”

“I don’t kill people.”

“Maybe not now.”

“Get in the car,” he said, opening the door for you.

You snapped your cuffs open. “Sorry,” you said, “I don’t think so.”

—

**May 15 th, 2009**

There are three things in this universe that nobody wanted on their backs, and they were all looking for you: The FBI, the angels and the Winchester brothers. The FBI was, so far, the easiest to dodge; all you had to do was hunt down a shape-shifter (which took you about a whole month), get it to turn into you and kill it – that old trick should buy you at least a couple of years if you were super careful. Next were the angels; you dug deep, found out how to completely angel-proof your place (granted, some of the sigils might not have been completely accurate but you put them there anyway – better safe than sorry) and you got a tattoo with some sort of an Enochian spell that was supposed to keep you hidden from their radar.

Your brothers were the hardest to dodge, though; you had to write down every code and every pattern you had ever learned and break it – and not all of them, either because they’d expect you to go to the opposite direction, so you developed a sequence. Rules – new rules that were a seemingly random mix and match of your old ones.

So, right now? Right now you were living the suburban life. You got a house with a lawn and a backyard and a garage – the whole shebang. You dyed your hair and let it grow. You stopped wearing jeans and flannel –bought yourself a whole new wardrobe that consisted solely of dresses and “cute, girly” workout clothes for the morning runs you went on every day now.

Every week, you summoned a new demon into your sound-proof basement and sucked the blood out of it. Nothing messy this time. No, no, that was just so uncalculated and…unprofessional. You’d developed. You never let yourself go a day without it now, so there was no…need. No hunger, no rush – no rash decisions. You drew their blood into bags and killed them.

Maybe you were living the suburban life but you were ridding the world of evil – one demon at a time.

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t  _about that_. Maybe it was more about your revenge – the ecstasy that jolted through your body when you killed one of those sons of bitches. But, hey, let’s, for the sake of decency, make it sound like it actually meant something more than just pure, gruesome murder.

When you weren’t getting your daily fix, you were at the gun store you worked at full-time. There weren’t a lot of things that you could do that could get you a steady stream of cash, and the store was a safe bet. You had the knowledge and you could take down anyone who tried to cause any trouble (which was surprisingly common), so your bosses were happy. It wasn’t exactly the best paying job in the world, but it kept you going without having to steal and therefore risk getting caught.

“Hey, Liz!”

Liz. You.  _God, I’ll never get used to that name._ “Yeah?!” you yelled back at your boss from the storage in the back. Your boss – Jack – opened the door and popped his head in.

“We need you out here.”

“Alright,” you said, dropping the box in your hand. You walked out and stopped dead in your tracks as soon as you caught the reason you were “needed”.

Your brothers.

How did they find you? Why were they standing there, looking…beaten? Defeated, confused. You expected them to be angry – to draw a gun out and shoot you right then and there. After all, you were no longer their sister – you were this “monster” in their terms, weren’t you? Why was Dean  _smiling?_  Why was Sam looking  _relieved?_

What did you miss?

“Hey… _Liz,”_ Dean said, clearing his throat. “Can we, uh, talk to you?”

You had two options – you could flee; try to run through the back door and disappear again, start over  _again._ You’d have to repeat every step and set up a whole new “life” somewhere else.

Or you could hear them out. You were strong – they couldn’t do much damage to you. And they wouldn’t really do anything where there were witnesses, would they? Not if you didn’t resist. Well, maybe they would, but in case they didn’t, that could save you a lot of time and effort that you’d have to spend on a new cover.

“Sure,” you said, turning to Jack, “Hey, could you give us a minute?”

He shrugged and left. “I’ll be back by six to lock up.”

You nodded. “Great.”

As soon as he left, Sam walked towards you. You slipped out your gun. “Don’t come anywhere near me.”

He raised his arms up and took a step back. “Alright, alright.”

“What do you want?” you asked, “And how’d you find me?”

“Chuck,” Dean said, “He’s a prophet, he can, uh, see things,” he explained, “He told us where to find you.”

“And, what?” you asked, “You think I’ll just let you kill me?”

They exchanged a confused glance. “We’re not here to hurt you,” Sam said, “We just want you back, Y/N. We miss you and –” He ran his fingers through his hair “—things have changed. Lucifer’s out, the apocalypse is happening, and  _soon._ ”

“ _What?_ ” you snapped, “Lucifer’s  _out?_ Are you fucking kidding me? You let Lilith break the seals?”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “We killed Lilith –  _Sam_ killed Lilith,” he said, “But she – she was the final seal, Y/N.”

Sam let Lucifer out.

Holy  _fuck_.

You put your gun on the counter and leaned on it, taking a deep breath. Lucifer being out there, the apocalypse – the whole thing meant that nobody was safe. Nobody. Not even you – especially not you. You didn’t know much about the devil, but you knew he wouldn’t exactly be thrilled you were sucking up his demons and killing them. Fuck, fuck,  _fuck._

“So, what now?” you asked, not looking up. “What’s the plan?”

“We don’t know yet,” Dean admitted, walking to the other side of the counter so he was standing right in front of you, “But – we need you with us, Y/N. We can’t pull this one off on our own.”

 You snapped your head up, your eyes narrowed. “And what? You’ll just forget about what I can do? You’ll let it slip?”

“Well, not exactly,” Sam said.

The next thing you felt was a sharp pain in your upper arm, and then you slumped over and everything faded.

—

Bright light. The taste of old leather in your mouth. The strain of something holding down your wrists, your ankles, your  _waist._ A shape on the ceiling of wherever the fuck you were – an extractor fan. Glance down – sigils. Sigils and warding and—

_It’s Bobby’s panic room._

No, no, no, no, no. Those fuckers – those  _fuckers!_ They trapped you – they got you and they locked you up, like a creature, an outlaw –  _a mental patient._ They had you strapped down – why did they strap you down? Why were you in here?

Oh God, what were they going to do?

They were going to torture you, weren’t they? They were going to get back to you for the past few months – leaving them, killing the demons and their hosts, everything. They were going to kill you, nice and slow, maybe even extract whatever information you had about Lucifer, right? Was Lucifer even out, or were they lying to you to keep you talking until they could take you?

You screamed –  _let me out, let me out, LET ME OUT._

_I don’t know anything, I don’t know anything – let me out!_

You heard feet shuffling towards the door and a  _squeak_ before a voice spoke. “You awake?” Dean asked.

Another scream.

“Look, try to calm down, alright?” he said, his tone void of any emotion, “This – this is gonna take a while, okay? Just calm down.”

_Calm down? CALM DOWN?_

You heaved and twitched and grunted against the belt between your teeth.

“I don’t like this any more than you do, alright?” he said, “I’ll be outside – we’re all outside.”

No. No, you didn’t want to go like this. After all these years, all this training and all the  _torture_ and all the monsters and all the numbness and all the pain – you didn’t your end to be at the hands of your goddamn brothers of all people and like  _this_ – strapped, weak, alone,  _evil._  Then it hit you.

If they didn’t kill you, the withdrawal would.

_Scream._

“I’m sorry.”


	9. Chapter Nine

_1998, 1999, 86000, 1, 2, 3 –_

You’d learned to do this when you were possessed – count the seconds, estimate the time. If you didn’t black out at any moment, which you didn’t think you did but weren’t really sure, it had been about a whole day since they locked you in here. After your brief conversation with Dean, nobody talked to you. It was silent, except for the  _whoosh_ of the fan above you and the sound of your own thoughts.

_4, 5, 6, 7, 8 –_

You panicked at first, consumed by your fear of the unknown. Maybe months ago you were able to somehow function for three days without demon blood, but now? After all this time of consuming it on a daily or semi-daily basis, you could feel the effects of the withdrawal crawling through your body if you were late for your fix by an hour or two.

_9, 10, 11, 12 –_

After roughly three hours of being in here, you were drowned in your own sweat. You could feel your clothes clinging to your cold skin, the little air inside the room making you shiver. Your tongue was dry against the leather, the taste making you gag.

_Just a mouthful, one mouthful._

_13, 14, 15, 16 –_

Three hours and twenty-six minutes in, you were shivering involuntarily, every part and every cell and every breath inside of you  _wanting, dreaming, craving._ Please –  _please, please, please_ – make it  _stop._ You couldn’t think – you couldn’t bear the thought of the bags in blood in the fridge inside your basement cold and ready and  _delicious._

_Just a drop, one drop._

_17, 18, 19, 20 –_

Six hours in, your veins were filled with  _fire._ Hot acid coursed through your body, burning every wall and every _thought_ and every nerve. Your skin was  _glowing,_ mapping out your pain, putting it on show. You didn’t  _want_ a sniff you  _needed_ a sniff because the only thing – the  _only thing –_ that could put this fire down is this sniff.

_Just a sniff, one sniff._

_21, 22, 23, 24 –_

Twelve hours in, your screams weren’t  _enough._ There was no stop, no cure, no light. The pain wasn’t just pain anymore – it was  _revenge._ Pure, unadulterated revenge pulsing through your body, your  _mind._ Not a sniff, not a drop, not a mouthful –

_A bucket, give me a bucket._

_25, 26, 27, 28 –_

Eighteen hours in, your ears were getting pierced by screeches, screams that weren’t your own. Every change in pitch and tone pushed your heart, made it pump  _more_ hot acid into your veins and arteries and laid out goose-bumps all over your skin. Your vision blurry, adding to the confusion and the pain. You tried to anchor your thoughts, your presence, your existence – focus on the counting, stay  _real._

_A shower, shower me with it._

_29, 30, 31, 32 –_

Everything stopped.

No more screams, no more pain, no more flames, no more leather tying you down. Nothing. Slowly, you opened your eyes and glanced around you. You caught movement in the corner of your eye. You sat up, taking your time, unsure if you were  _allowed_ to, still confused –  _why did the pain stop?_

“Miss me?”

Your breath caught in the back of your throat. You knew that voice – the voice that loomed inside your head for _months_. The voice you heard scream and  _beg_ before it turned into a stream of black smoke coming out of its hosts dying body.

It was her. The demon who possessed you for a year.

“You’re  _alive_?” you croaked, shaking, turning to look at her. She was in the body she supposedly died in – but,  _how?_ No way, you burned that –

“You’re not as strong as you think you are, Y/N,” she said, a menacing smile stuck on her face. She took a couple of steps towards you and you grimaced, knowing you had no power over her – you weren’t in pain but you felt drained, tired,  _weak._ You couldn’t even punch her if it came to it. “You think you can get rid of me, ha?  _You?_ ”

You couldn’t find your voice.

You might’ve fought monsters for a living. You might’ve spent months chunking down one demon after the other, but she – she  _violated_ you. She broke you for  _so many months_ and you couldn’t resist her. When you killed her, you were fueled with anger, with  _power_ , but now you couldn’t even say something back. Her tone, her words, her mere presence brought down months’ worth of memories – of torture, of pain inflicted on others, of her own memories of hell.

“That’s right,” she said, “You can’t, can you? You’ve always been weak,” she said, “ _Pathetic,_ easy. How do you think demons even get to possess people, ha? They feed on their weaknesses – it’s our way in and, sweetie,” she said, “You were an open door.”

“I’m  _not_ weak.”

“Really? You’re not?” she asked, “Then why don’t you  _show me_?” In a flash, she gripped your neck and pushed you down, back on the bed. Her eyes flashed black and she dug her nails in your chest, moving down. Your back arched and you twitched, but you didn’t resist. You screamed and tears streamed down your face, but your limbs were paralyzed. You just let her have her way.

Just like you had, for an entire year.

“ _SHOW ME!”_

She grabbed your wrist and twisted it.  _Fuck,_ fuck. You shut your eyes – she might as well kill you. You didn’t care. You were trapped in here, and somehow someone let her in when you were like this – weak, defenseless,  _pathetic_  –

 _They_ let her in.

You’d angered them,  _repulsed_ them, so much that they sent in the demon who’d turned your life upside down. The demon they  _knew_ tore every string of your sanity, of your stability, to pieces. The demon you’d told Dean everything about, the demon Sam swore, way before you thought you’d killed her, that he’d send to hell himself for what she’d done to you, the amount of damage they saw through you.

She might as well kill you.

“That’s enough. Leave.”

Sam.

You opened your eyes to find her gone, replaced by your little brother. His lips curled up in a comforting smile and he brought his hand to your cheek. You took a shaky breath and leaned into the touch, desperate. “I –”

“That was just so easy, wasn’t it?”

“What?”

He let out a breathy laugh and took his hand away. “All it took was two minutes with some low-level demon to break you. So much for all façade you put on. Tell me.” He rolled Ruby’s knife between his fingers. “Was it worth it? Were those few months really worth it, Y/N?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, watching him as he leaned casually against the wall. You didn’t say anything for a while but he shot you a look –  _speak._ “They – they were okay,” you said, “I had a life.”

“A life, yeah,” he said, “Pretending to be someone else, someone who isn’t  _you –_ that must’ve felt good, didn’t it?”

You frowned.

“I mean,” he said, “You’re nothing special, you know? You’ve always been…ordinary,” he explained, “What was Dad’s word?  _Average._ ”

“Don’t – don’t –”

“No, no,” he said, “I’m not trying to  _hurt you_ – I’m just stating facts here.” He crossed his arms. “Shooting? Average. Running? Average. Latin? Average,” he went on, “Hell, you couldn’t even be good enough at school – you dropped out before you got your GED, didn’t you?”

You took a deep breath. “We had to leave right before I could take my –”

“Excuses, excuses.” He shrugged. “That’s what you’re all about. You held us down for  _months_ after Dean found you at that crossroads – your excuse? ‘I was  _possessed.’_ Who  _cares_?” He scoffed. “We felt sorry for you, you know? We kept taking turns babysitting your pathetic ass because we felt sorry for you – you were a burden the entire time, just like you were when we were kids.”

You held back your sobs, unwilling to show him how it affected you. He was pulling strings – every word a new one – from the deepest corners of your mind, the memories you never wanted to visit, the thoughts you never wanted to feed. The stuff you kept worrying about, silently, for years and they kept reassuring you – you kept reassuring yourself – that it wasn’t the case. That they didn’t see you as a burden, that they saw you as their equal.

But that was too good to be true, wasn’t it?

“What’s your excuse this time, huh?” he asked, “Why did you let one substance rule your life like that? I mean,” he said, “Look at me. I’ve had it in me since I was a  _baby_ , but I learned to control it, it didn’t control  _me._ ”

“I tried.”

“Liar,” he said, “Why should I believe you? Why should any of us believe you?”

“We have no reason to.” Dean. He strolled into the room and shut the door behind him. “She’s a lying, manipulative _monster._ ”

“I’m not –”

“Oh don’t deny it,” he said, “You  _know_ you are – every time you snapped some poor bastard’s neck in half and drank the blood of the demon possessing him, and then let him die as soon as he was free of the demon – you enjoyed that, didn’t you? You liked to see the light go from their eyes – you had power, you had  _control_ and you liked that, didn’t you?” He shook his head with disgust. “You filthy little –”

“Stop. Please just – stop,” you said, “If you brought me here to kill me – just do.”

He raised his eyebrows and turned to his brother who just shrugged. “Oh we’re not here to kill you,” he said, “We’re here to teach you a lesson.”

—

_Sam POV_

“Dean, it’s been two days,” Sam said, nudging his older brother’s shoulder.

He raised a hand dismissively and gulped down more of his whiskey. “You’ve seen her,” he said, his tone unreadable, “She went  _above and beyond_ , it’s gonna take a while for her to detox completely.”

“She hasn’t eaten anything, Dean,” he said. They’d tried to feed her one time when she was somewhat calm but she choked on her food – it was like she wasn’t even there. Her head was somewhere else completely. “Nothing at all for two days – and she’s been screaming  _non-stop_  – you saw the blood on her wrists and legs – she’s been struggling and –”

“You think I don’t know that?” Dean snapped, “You think I don’t wish I can just let her go – get her some of that damn blood myself? It’s  _killing me_  but I – I can’t, Sam,  _we_ can’t.”

Sam sighed. “Dean I – the little time I’ve spent down there, in the same situation, it was – it was beyond anything you can imagine,” he said, “After Lilith – I don’t know, I don’t feel it anymore. Maybe I’ve been drained clean of it – used all of it up on her – maybe whatever brought us back rid me of it,  _I don’t know_ , but she’s in it too deep – it’s gotta be worse for her, man. We can’t just sit here and do nothing while she –”

“Do you have any suggestions, or are you just gonna lay it out on me  _again_?” Dean asked.

“Maybe – maybe cold turkey isn’t the best way to go.”

“What do you mean? You’re not actually suggesting we –”

“It could work,” Sam said, “It could  _help_ , maybe even tone down the hallucinations a bit.” Dean frowned. “We’ll just give her some – less than what she’s used to, and then decrease the doses until –”

“No!” Dean yelled, “Hell, no! I’m not giving her any more of that – I don’t care  _what_ she sees. She’s tough, she can get through this.”

Sam bumped the table with his fist, frustrated.  _Why can’t he get it?_ “It’s not about how tough she is, Dean!” he said, “We don’t know how this might end – her powers are acting  _against_ her right now, pulling every weakness – she might end up being dead!”

“ _How?_ I don’t think –”

“If it’s not the remaining powers themselves,” Sam said, “It might be a stroke, or a heart attack, or anything. She’s not detoxing some random drug, Dean – this is demonic, and it’s  _claimed_ her.”

Dean paused, thinking it through. Sam tapped his fingers against the wood, every shrill coming from the direction of the panic room making his heart clench. “Alright,” Dean said, “We need to –”

The screaming stopped.

“No,” Dean breathed, getting up, followed shortly by Sam, “No, no, no. Don’t be dead, don’t be dead.”

Sam quickly unlocked the door and they both pulled it out. She had broken free of her restraints somehow – they looked as if they’d been  _cut off_ from the sheer pressure –and was sprawled on the floor, sweaty, unconscious, her mouth still wrapped by the belt they’d put there so she wouldn’t bite her own tongue off. Sam kneeled beside her and unbuckled the belt while Dean checked for pulse.

“She’s alive,” he breathed, “Barely, but alive.”

“We have to get her to a hospital,” Sam said, “Y/N?” he called, slapping her cheek. “Y/N, can you hear me? Wake up. Y/N!  _Y/N!”_

“Fuck,  _fuck_ ,” Dean mumbled, “What have I done?” he whispered, “Y/N!” He reached to his pocket. “I can’t drive like this, here –” He handed Sam the keys to the Impala, “Let’s go.”

Sam nodded absently, reaching his arms to carry her. Just as he stood up with her in his arms, though, he heard her mumble something. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Dean asked.

“Could’ve sworn she said something,” he said, hurrying up, Dean right behind him. He made it to the car as fast as he could and laid her down in the backseat before getting behind the wheel, Dean on his side.

“’orry,” her voice whispered, “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”


	10. Chapter Ten

There’s this moment right before you wake up where you’re aware of everything that’s going on around you – the beeps in a distance, the softness of the cold pillow under your cheek, the tugging on the inside of your wrist – but you don’t really make sense of it. The voice inside your head hasn’t woken up yet, it’s just you. Your consciousness. No memories, no fears, no feelings, no thoughts.

Just you.

You were having one of those prolonged, blissful moments right now.  _Breathe in, breathe out_ – as simple as that. You shifted in your position, relishing just how… _fluffy_ the mattress beneath you felt. Weird. Your bed was somewhat hard on the back – wait, where were you?

That was it – that was the end of whatever comfort you had just a second ago. You woke up your own mind and with it, everything came crashing back. Bobby’s panic room, the ties, the fever, the shaking –

Your brothers.

The last thing you remembered was them taking turns at singling out your innermost fears, rolling their eyes when you told them how much you were hurting – physically more than anything. At that point, the pain had overcome your vision and your senses. Your surroundings shook, your limbs pulled against your restraints. You wanted to calm down, you wanted to stop the madness that overtook your body but you couldn’t.

_Where were you?_

Reluctantly, you pulled your eyelids up, taking a second to focus your vision – adjust to the dim light. Soft blue walls, a couple of empty chairs. You were lying on an unusually white bed, attached to –

_A hospital?_

“Um, hello?” you said, glancing around you. For some reason, you were exhausted, like you’d just run a marathon. When nobody answered, you looked around you for a phone or a button or –

_There it is._

A moment later, a nurse showed up in your room. She checked your vitals as you asked about what happened. “You had a seizure,” she said, “Your brothers brought you in here.”

“My brothers?”

_Why did they bother?_

She nodded. “They’re outside. Talking to an officer,” she said, “Normally, we’d wait until the patient wakes up but the marks on your wrists and legs looked pretty severe.”

“Wait –  _you_ called the cops?”

“Well not  _me,_ but yeah,” she said, “He’s gonna want to talk to you, too – the officer, I mean – do you want me to tell them you –”

“No!” you answered immediately, swallowing hard, “No, please, just – give me some time. I’m still – I can’t –”

She nodded understandingly. “Of course.”

“Thank you.”

As soon as she left, you searched for a way out, mentally. You could grab your clothes and sneak out if you knew exactly where Sam and Dean were. They couldn’t – you couldn’t let them go on with what they’d started at Bobby’s. You had to leave, find a safe place to stay. Slowly, you pulled your strength to sit up, fumbling with the cord on –

“You’re awake.”

Sam.  _Shit._

You looked down at your hands, avoiding any sort of eye contact, and nodded briefly. If there was anything you learned from the past couple of days it was this:  _keep your head down, don’t talk back._

“How are you feeling?”

“Good,” you answered, your heart pumping louder into your ears the closer he got to you. He reached out and rested a hand on your shoulder, leaning down to –

_Kiss your forehead?_

“I – we were so scared,” he breathed, “We thought we lost you for a second. When we came in and saw you on the floor –  _God._ ”  _Came in? You were already there, the entire time!_ “What? What’s with the look?”

You opened your lips to reply but then hesitated.  _He’d be angry._ “Nothing.”

“Y/N,” he said, “What is it?”

“What – what exactly happened?”

The metallic chair screeched against the floor as he pulled it to sit beside your bed. “How much do you remember?”

 _Everything._ “Not much.”

“First of all,” he said, “I’m sorry it had to be that way. We – we didn’t know any better. We still don’t know if you’re completely free of it yet but –”

“Free of what?”

“The demon blood,” he said, “That’s what – wait.” He scooted closer. “What do you  _think_ happened?”

—

_How To Trust People: A Guide By A Winchester_

_You don’t._

_Fin._

Apparently, this also applied to yourself. For the whole 29 years of your life, you were able to truly trust one person all the time – yourself. You trusted your mind and your judgment. Even through the thickest of hazes – the alcohol, the drugs, you name it – you  _knew._ You knew when you were drunk, you knew when you were high – you  _knew._ You were able to dismiss the poisonous thoughts as soon as you were sober – filter out the stuff that were just the result of your mind being a douchebag.

But not this time.

Sam told you that, for two whole days, neither of them stepped food into Bobby’s panic room except that one time they’d tried to feed you, and you weren’t even properly responsive at the time. He told you that they didn’t talk to you, or hurt you – he actually looked pretty offended when you hinted towards that – and that you were alone this whole time. He reassured you that no demon could’ve possibly entered the room, and that the demon who possessed you was most probably as dead as you’d presumed her to be before this whole mess.

You wanted to believe him, you really did.

But that seemed almost too easy. You’d repeatedly hurt them – left them when they needed you, became dependent on  _demon blood_ of all things and have probably killed more people in the process than you could ever aspire to save. Why would they show up to  _help you_? Why would they take you away to detox you?

Three days ago you would’ve shot them if it came down to it.

The scenario that you  _thought_ happened –the one repeatedly dismissed by your little brother – was a lot more likely in your head. True, you’d always had the tendency to believe the worst – it was realistic, hunters were a cup half empty people. At least the good ones were –but maybe –

But then again they were your  _brothers._

Your brothers who’d always been there for you. How could the same Dean who’d spent a good deal of his nights as a kid (and an adult) telling you that  _it’s okay_ and  _we’re a team, Y/N_  – the same Dean whose first thought fresh out of _hell_ was to  _call_ you – treat you the way he did (you thought he did?) yesterday?

How could the same Sam who looked up to you (quite literally at times, before he hit that freak growth spurt and became mountain-like) growing up – the same Sam whose first reaction when you’d spent the night trashed and had probably gave him quite a reputation that night at Stanford was to hug you and look after you ever possibly say those things to you?

But you were a  _monster._

You drifted away so much that you became the thing you hunted. One of those times when a demon was especially hard to kill, you’d catch your reflection on some surface and see your own eyes turn black. It didn’t faze you at the time. It was hard to care when you had this powerful tool and nothing to lose – nothing  _more_ to lose.

You were as good as a regular demon.

A demon – like the one who set your mother on fire, the one who did the same to Sam’s girlfriend 22 years later, the one who possessed you, the one your brother trusted and has obviously led him to  _fucking start the apocalypse._ And you became this way willingly, in front of their own eyes and when they’d tried to stop you, you ran. You ran and you hid and you made it obvious you wanted nothing to do with them.

You only let your guard down when you thought your ass was on the line – when you thought Lucifer was coming for you, too.

“You’re thinking too much. I can tell,” Dean said, leaning by the door. “I know that look. It’s called Not Enough Alcohol.”

You smiled. “Not nearly enough.”

He laughed and sat on the edge of your bed, keeping distance. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” you said, and it was true. You weren’t sure what it was but for the past couple of hours you’d been thankfully out of pain, at least for now.

“You –” he cleared his throat “—sure?”

“Listen, Dean.” You licked your lips. “There’s something I need to –”

He shook his head. “No,” he said, “No. We’re not talking about this,  _ever._ ”

“Dean.”

“Y/N.”

“Seriously,” you said, “The past few months, I –”

“Stop, okay?”

“ _Why?_ ”

He sighed. “Because I don’t want to think about it too much,” he admitted, “It’s over, it’s done. You’re here. I’m here. Sam’s bringing us real food as we speak,” he said, “It’s good, we’re together. We’ll figure the other stuff out later.”

“Yeah,” you breathed. Maybe it was better that way.

“Speaking of,” Dean said, “Bobby called. He’s been on a hunt,” he explained, “But when he heard about you, he packed up and left. Should be here any minute now.”

“How’s he been?”

He shrugged, leaning on his side. “He’s okay,” he said, “He misses you, a lot. He spent a lot of time looking for you, you know? But you really went under the radar this time.”

You snickered. “I  _did_ dye my hair black.”

He rolled his eyes. “But, hey, listen,” he said, “No need to tell him about the whole Sam-broke-the-final-seal thing. There’s just –” He sighed. “Sam’s been through enough.”

“So you and Sam – you’re okay?”

Earlier, the two minutes they both spent in your room together, you could break the tension with a knife. He grimaced. “Let’s also not talk about  _that._ ”

“Dean –”

“It’s between me and Sam.”

“Oh.”

He rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He opened his mouth as if to say something but was interrupted by Bobby’s presence. Despite everything, despite  _yourself_ at this moment, you grinned at him.

“Hey, kid.”

“Hey, Bobby,” you said, waving at him. He dropped the duffel bag on his shoulder somewhere on the floor and caught you in a hug. You wrapped your arms around him, sighing into his chest. “Good to see you, old man.”

He narrowed his eyes at you as he pulled away. “ _You’re_ old!” he said.

“Which makes you practically ancient.”

He huffed. “That stopped being funny nine years ago,” he grumbled. “So, what? Anyone wanna fill me in? Why are you here?”

You raised your eyebrows at your brother. “You didn’t tell him?”

“Tell me  _what_?”

“She had a seizure,” Dean said, “She’s fine. They’re keeping her just in case. Let’s leave it at that.”

Bobby frowned at him. “A seizure? Why in the world –” He turned to you. “You didn’t give it up, did ya? The demon blood? You stayed on it  _this whole time_?”

“Bobby…” Dean trailed off.

He didn’t pay any attention to him. “And what have you been doing, huh?” he asked, “’Cause I bet you weren’t exactly baking cookies when you just disappeared off the friggin’ map.”

_Silence._

“Unbelievable,” he said, “They should’ve shot you when they had the chance.”

You blinked.  _Did he really just say that?_ Were you imagining things again? You knew – you knew you deserved it on some level. On all levels, but Bobby? He would never –

Was this real?

Was it  _all_ real?

“Bobby!”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, curling your legs underneath you, wishing you could shrink all the way.

“Sorry just don’t cut it, kid!” he said, “There’s no going back from that one,” he added, “It’s just a matter of time before you –”

“Bobby, that’s enough,” Dean said, standing up. “Let’s talk outside.”

—

**November, 2009**

For the first time in about four years, things were actually starting to be better for you. Except, you know, for the whole apocalypse looming on your heads thing. After you got out of the hospital, you stayed with your brothers for a while, but when they separated, you went back to Bobby’s; Sam needed to be alone and Dean still hadn’t completely forgiven you either, even though he was much more accepting with you than he was with Sam. And on the other hand, someone needed to look after the very reluctant Bobby. Admit it or not, after the whole deal with losing the ability to walk, he hadn’t been the same. You’d offered to stay right after it happened, but he wouldn’t speak to any of you at the time, so you let it go.

Right now, it was like it was pre-2003 all over again. You stayed home with Bobby for a while, helped him research and he sent you on hunts he knew you could handle. Nothing that said demonic omens, though. Both of you didn’t trust you enough not to fall back into the loop. It was hard enough when you had to fight War and  _everyone_ fucking _smelled_ like a demon to you.

You spent these last couple of days with your brothers and Bobby, working the case of that Irish asshole – Patrick. Thankfully, it all turned out okay and everyone got their years back. Though, to be fair, Old Dean was kind of amusing. Okay,  _really_ amusing, and as a younger sibling, it was years’ worth of ammunition, really.

Bobby was upstairs, asleep, while you were at his desk, going through some lore on the horsemen. The whole fight against the apocalypse thing felt like a dead-end, but hey, at least you were doing  _something._

You took a sip of the beer that you’d been drinking for an entire hour, eyes fixed on the book on your thighs, legs propped on the desk.

_Under this interpretation, the first horseman is called Pestilence, and is associated with infectious disease and plague. It appears at least as early as 1916, when it is mentioned in the –_

“Never thought you’re the nerd type.” You jumped from your seat and drew your gun immediately. The man in front of you grinned and raised his hands up, wiggling his eyebrows. “Jumpy.”

Was that the  _trickster?_ From that hunt in 2007? He  _was_ , wasn’t he? “You’re alive?”

He laughed. “Wow, you really  _were_ out of the loop,” he said, “Well, not for long. Come on, chop chop. Time to leave.”

“Did you fall on your head when you were little?” you asked, “Why would I go anywhere with you?”

“Look,” he said, his face serious for a moment, “I’m here alone, no tricks or anything. You could say I…took a pity on you,” he explained, “The angels, they’re gonna be looking for you, soon. If you have any chance of surviving this, you need to leave, with me.  _Now._ ”

“The  _angels_?” you repeated, “Why?”

“Word on the street is that  _you’re_ Lucifer’s spare wheels.”


	11. Chapter Eleven

_Bobby,_

_I don’t know where to start. By the time you read this, I will be long gone. I don’t know where to (I really don’t). Guess I’m taking a chance here?_

_I could’ve left without a note, but considering everything that’s been going on, I think it’s important that I tell you this. Bobby, you’ve been like a father to me, my whole life. Sometimes more so than my actual father. And for that, I thank you. I know I’ve been a disappointment, and I know I’ve caused you a lot of pain throughout the years and I’m sorry._

_I know you see me as a daughter, you’ve told me that countless times, but I’ve never really been able to tell you how much this actually meant to me. You have guided me, you’ve practically raised me. I owe you so much, yet I’ve been doing nothing but disappointing you lately. I’ve become the same kind of monster you got into hunting to fight. I’ve left you and my brothers when you needed me the most. I’ve thrown away everything you’d given me for what I thought was personal revenge at the time._

_You’re right. Sorry doesn’t cut it._

_I’m leaving now because I don’t want to disappoint you again. I don’t want to die a disappointment, Bobby, so I have to leave. Please, don’t look for me. You won’t be able to find me. If things change, I might get back._

_But chances are they won’t. Chances are – I won’t even see you again._

_So I’m sorry. If by some miracle you could find it in you to forgive me, please do._

_I love you._

_PS: You really need to get a lady around here. Find someone for fuck’s sake._

_Y/N_

—

Hey Sam,

I really hope you check your email. By now you’ve probably heard from Bobby that I’ve left (or you’re checking your email really late at night. If that’s the case, for fuck’s sake get a life). This is for you and Dean.

I left my phone. I will not be checking my email. I will not be on the map so DON’T LOOK FOR ME. Don’t be idiots, ok? Go on doing what you do best. Stop this madness. Don’t let the dicks win.

On a more realistic note, try not to get killed. I know you two don’t believe in that, but if it came to it, HIDE. HIDE FOR FUCK’S SAKE. DON’T BE IDIOTS. IT’S THAT SIMPLE.

I haven’t told Bobby about this, but I’ve…come across some news. Sam’s Lucifer’s true vessel, but I’m second best. The shit I pulled with the demon blood, and being the little sister – I’m his second best option. I can’t even bear the thought of saying yes to the fucker. I can’t do this again. I can’t disappoint you all again. So I’m leaving. I’m going under the radar.

Look if it came to it – if it came to it…let’s just leave it at that I’d rather die. Don’t worry about me. Focus on yourselves. Worry about yourselves. DO NOT SAY YES. EITHER OF YOU.

DO NOT BE IDIOTS.

I will not get back to demon blood. I will not say yes to Lucifer. I will not hurt people.

Find it in yourselves to trust me on that one.

Please.

I don’t trust myself to join you. I don’t trust myself to control my addiction, or not compromise your situation. You shouldn’t have to look after me. I will not let the angels use me as a bargaining chip against you.

I love you.

Forgive me.

Don’t be idiots.

_—_

You pressed  _send_ and stood up, hands in your pockets. It wasn’t like you were allowed to take anything with you anyway. The archangel (which was what the trickster turned out to be. Gabriel, the archangel. Of all things) raised his arms in the air. “ _Finally!_ ”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Does it matter?” he asked, “You’ll be safe. Hidden. Not dead. You don’t exactly have a lot of options right now.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “This won’t be the first time I hide from angels and demons.”

He rolled his eyes. “You really think that if they wanted to find you bad enough they wouldn’t have?” he asked, “I’ve been hidden right under their nose for a very long time. I know more about this than you ever will,” he said, “Come with me or be on your own. Choose now.”

—

**May, 2010**

_It was decided._

Seven months spent on your own, sometimes jumping from one crazy illusion to the other on the hands of Gabriel – a few were annoying to be completely honest, like that one time you were a pony for an entire evening – other times you found yourself completely alone, in a deserted house in Eastern Europe while he was too busy to keep you company. This last time, though, you found a CD on the table.

_Casa Erotica: Special Edition. For your eyes only._

You weren’t unfamiliar with the archangel’s obsession with everything inappropriate so you didn’t think much of it at first. You put your CD in your laptop and sat back, expecting one of his pranks. Or, you know, porn. That wouldn’t hurt either.

Hey, if the world was going to end soon whether you liked it or not you might as well enjoy the simple things.

But it wasn’t that. This time, it was different – Gabriel was dead. Your eyes widened and you blinked the choke in the back of your throat away. As if that wasn’t enough, he went on to explain the situation. He told you about the horsemen’s rings, and everything he told your brothers. He told you what he thought they’d do to trap Lucifer in the cage.

Say yes.

And you agreed. That sounded like Sam – pulling something as risky as this, throwing himself into the Cage with Lucifer in order to stop the apocalypse. The little time you spent with him after you sobered up, he was drowning in guilt. Dean’s hesitancy towards forgiving him didn’t help either. Your little brother had always felt like a freak, and neither of you could really deny it. He  _was_ a freak. But he wasn’t evil. And it wasn’t his choice to become what he’d become.

If anyone was to blame, it was your mother. She’d made that deal with Azazel, hadn’t she?

But Dean would never let him do that – would he? Would he really allow Sam to do this? If he could do anything to stop it, he would, you were sure. Maybe it would be him who’d say yes to Michael and try to overpower him and push Lucifer into the Cage alone, without anyone else with him. And maybe he’d succeed. Dean, you knew, was one tough fucker.

Would Michael let him get away with it, though?

No. Never.

The least he’d do is ruin Dean from the inside out, if he didn’t kill him himself. There would be nothing left of Dean, he’d just be hanging by a thread for the rest of his life, or dead – in hell or in heaven, you had no idea, but that wasn’t something you were even willing to think about.

_It was decided._

“ _I know this may come as a shocker to you_ ,” Gabriel said, “ _But I find you…interesting. Somewhat. Don’t sweat it,”_ he added, “ _I know when the big battle is scheduled to happen. You’re receiving this two days before it. I’ve been dead for a while now,_ ” he said, “ _But you have to admit, pretty impressive trick, huh? Bet you thought I really was off with Kali._ ”

You  _did._

“ _Say goodbye to your brothers. You’re a pain in the butt, but you’re surprisingly sentimental. Go. See them. Try not to do something too stupid.”_

You wondered what he’d define as “stupid.” It was probably along the lines of finally giving in to Lucifer. Gabriel was able to hide you – and pretty well at that – from the eyes and ears of everything supernatural, but not from the intruding dreams starring his brother. You remembered the first time it happened – you’d been crashing somewhere in Greece (or so you thought at the time) and you dreamt of Claire – your friend from another era. She kept reminding you of your old life with your family around the time you were a teenager.

It was a pretty good dream, until it took a turn.

She started mentioning your father, and how unfairly he treated you in comparison to your brothers. You hadn’t voiced anything like this to Claire, you didn’t think, but she kept going on and on about how you were the black sheep in your father’s eyes and the evil one according to your brothers.

Because, let’s face it, Sam was forced onto this road. You weren’t.

You  _chose_ to be the way you were. You chose to drift off and be on your own. You chose to defy every rule and everything for what you believed was the thing that had to be done, regardless of the consequences, at the time.

Then she went on to ask you if you thought Dean had really forgiven you for what you’d done. If he’d ever thought of you as their equal ever since your possession. You didn’t think he did. You’d let him down in so many ways. You’d taken everything he’d ever given you and thrown it away. The gap between you, right now, was undeniable. There was no going back from that. There was no fixing things.

There was no team. There would never be.

Once you were knee-deep in your own guilt, she made you an offer.  _He_ made you an offer. He told you that all you had to do was say yes, and that you’d never be underestimated again. He told you that you could withstand him, that you were one of the few who would actually survive the battle between him and Michael, that he’d make sure you did. He told you that you were more than similar, that even if it was destined to be Sam, you were a good replacement.

He told you that you weren’t ordinary. That you were finally meant to do something significant with your life.

You told him to bite you.

You woke up that day thinking you’d dodged him once and for all. You thought that since he couldn’t really find you, he’d leave you alone. He didn’t. Not once.

You hadn’t had one peaceful night of sleep ever since.

He was getting desperate, you could tell, even though he wouldn’t admit it. Sam was looking like he wouldn’t do it more and more every day and the battle was looming in. But you knew better now. You knew the weapon they were relying on to defeat Lucifer and stop the apocalypse.

_It was decided._

You’d been a disappointment for far too long. You’d caused enough suffering to the world around you. It was time. It was time to prove you weren’t as much of a fuck up as you’d previously shown to be. It was time to pay them back – all of them. Sam, Dean, Bobby.

Your dad.

You couldn’t let anyone or anything get in the way. You couldn’t just sit on your ass and let the dice roll the way the angels wanted them to roll, or the way your brothers were planning to roll them. Both scenarios were disastrous on so many levels. All those millions of people didn’t deserve to die because of your family and the dick angels. Bobby didn’t deserve to lose his sons – either of them, because if he’d lost one, the other would be just as lost. Sam didn’t deserve to burn in hell. Dean didn’t deserve to die.

You did.

If there was one way to repent, one way to cleanse yourself of all the evil and all the blood and all the mistakes – if there was one way to do something, anything, right at all, this was it. If there was any way you could set the records straight – any way you could correct your corrupt path, you had it right in front of you.

You’d have to check your facts first. You’d have to say goodbye, like Gabriel had suggested and you’d have to gather all the power inside of you and walk on the thinnest line you could ever walk on. You’d have to take a chance – one chance. If you fucked this one up, too, you were toast. And not just you.

The whole planet was toast.

You’d have to face your weaknesses – every single one of them. You’d have to give in to the desire yet control it, like you’d never done. You’d have to face two equally stubborn brothers, each with a death wish himself. You’d have to defy all the forces, gather every bit of strength and go ahead with it.

You couldn’t do it.

But you could try. You were a quitter, you never really tried – you’d never really put your all into something before. It was about time you did.

You could do it.

_I’m sorry, Gabriel._

_It was decided._


	12. Chapter Twelve

“No.”

Your eyebrows perked up as you leaned against the hood of your brother’s Impala. Sam and Dean, as well as Castiel, had stopped on their way to Detroit for food and gas, which was the perfect opportunity for you to show up. This was it, the moment you’d been waiting for.

All three of them looked  _wrecked,_ which, you supposed, was justifiable. The angel was the only one passed out, though, in the backseat. They were about to face the Devil, literally. You spread an arm beside you. “Are you just gonna stand there? C’mere.”

Your older brother crossed the distance between you and engulfed you in a hug, his arms wrapped so tight around you it was a tad hard to breathe, but you didn’t mind. You patted his back. “You’re alive,” he croaked, “You’re okay.”

“I am,” you said, “I’m fine.” He pulled away from the hug only to be replaced by Sam, who was more visibly shaken than Dean. “Hey, Sam.”

“Hey, Y/N,” he breathed then put his hands on your shoulders, crouching so he could look straight into your eyes. “I – I’m so glad you –”

“Oh don’t be dramatic,” you said, on the verge of tears yourself. “What? You thought I’d let you boys do this all by yourselves?”

 _They probably did_ , you thought. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d abandoned them when it was crucial. Dean rubbed his eyes. “Where have you been all this time?”

“With Gabriel,” you said, straight to the point. There was no time and you had no energy to beat around the bush anymore. The least you could do for them was tell them the whole truth for once. Well, maybe not  _the whole truth._ “He kept me hidden.”

“Gabriel?” Sam repeated, “The archangel Gabriel?”

You nodded. “It’s a long story,” you said, “But I know.”

“You know?” Sam.

“Of course you do.” Dean.

You crossed your arms. “The rings, your whole…plan. Everything,” you said, “It’s actually why I’m here.”

“Listen, Y/N, if you’re here to talk me out of –”

You cut Sam off. “That’s not why I’m here.” You took a deep breath. “There’s another way. You don’t have to say yes – either of you.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, “What other way?”

You licked your lips and gathered every string of strength in you. “ _I_ can say yes,” you suggested, “I can do it – all of it. I can fight him, I can push him in. Neither of you have to get hurt for this.”

Dean’s reaction was immediate – his head shot up and his eyes widened. “No!”

Sam just stood there, silent. Stunned, you presumed. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it right away. You talked to Dean, but your eyes were fixed on your younger brother. “I can do it, Dean,” you insisted, “And, hell?” You shrugged. “I had it coming. Sooner or later…”

Sam’s features softened. “You don’t have it coming, Y/N…”

“Yes, I  _do_ ,” you said through gritted teeth. “At least a lot more than  _you_ , Sam.” You took a step towards him. “You –” you pointed at him, “—you didn’t choose to be what you turned out to be, Sam. And you never,  _not once_ , hurt someone whom you didn’t think had it coming.”

“ _I_ brought Lucifer out,” he said, “Hell, I was the reason Dean had to sell his soul and break the first seal!”

“Because he  _made_ you!” you argued, “All this time, you were part of his scheme – his plan. He planted demons all around you, Sam, every step of the way,” you said, “You were  _forced_ into this.” You turned to Dean. “ _You_ , too!”

“And you weren’t?” Dean asked, “You said it yourself – that night at Stanford –”

“That night had  _nothing to do with it_.” Both of them shut up. “You wanna know why Brady got me on demon blood? Not to prep me to be Lucifer’s vessel,” you said, “He only gave me enough to corrupt my vessel enough so I wouldn’t be an alternate vessel for  _Michael._ ”

“What?”

“— _I_ made myself the way I am,” you said, “I chose that path willingly. I fell so far off the wagon, I  _made_ myself hell’s bitch.”

“No –  _No!”_ Dean roared, “You’re  _not_ doing this – I can’t –  _we_  can’t let you –”

You clenched your fists, exhaling sharply. “Who would you rather lose, Dean?”

He stared at you, disbelief evident in his eyes. “ _Neither of you!_ ” he yelled, “If I can help it –”

“But you can’t,” you said, “Who would you rather lose, Dean? Sam? Would you rather lose your little brother? The one whom you’ve been looking after your whole life? Your hunting partner? The one who’d been dragged into this mess no one could’ve prevented?” Tears welled in your eyes. “Or would you rather lose  _me_?” you asked, “The one who’s abandoned you  _over and over –_ the monster who –” Your breath hitched in the back of your throat. “I’ve  _killed_ innocent people, Dean. Maybe you can pretend to forgive me but –”

“You –” Sam started, “You’ve been possessed –tortured—for a  _year_ ,” he said, “I can’t even  _begin_ to imagine what that’s like. You’ve done your time ahead. I –”

“Will you two  _stop_?” Dean pleaded, “Just – just stop for the love of God.”

You sniffed. “Well I didn’t come here to discuss this anyway; it’s been decided,” you said, “I came here to say goodbye. And to take the rings. I want you as far from this as physically possible.”

“That’s not gonna happen,” Dean said, “Even if we agree to this, we’ll have to be there. We can’t –”

“ _Even if?_ ” Sam repeated, “You’re actually  _considering this_?”

“Well if I’m going to lose a sibling anyway –”

_It might as well be her._

“What the hell, Dean?” he said, “No, this is  _not_ what we agreed on – I told you – you and Y/N have to find lives of your own.  _Normal lives._  We already agreed –”

“I didn’t agree to anything,” Dean grumbled, “But if I can’t stop you, I might as well help you.”

You’d expected it – hell you  _wanted it._ You wanted Dean to react that way, you wanted him not to care too much about what you were about to do – the fact that you were doing it anyway. But it stung, still, to see him like that. Part of you wished he’d –  _they’d –_ fight for you a little harder. Would it have changed your mind? No. It couldn’t have.

The twinge in your chest was familiar – like that day your father died. The day he chose Dean over you. You were glad he did; otherwise Dean would’ve been dead and gone but the fact that he even  _chose –_ it still hurt, even when you would’ve wanted him, on the long run, to pick Dean anyway.

You couldn’t decide how selfish that was. You didn’t really care.

“Can I just – can you just let me say goodbye?”

“No,” Sam decided, “You’re not saying goodbye because  _you’re not going anywhere._  I’m not going to let you say yes to Lucifer, Y/N.”

_Time’s up._

Heat escaped your body, from the tips of your fingers inwards, all the way to the center of your chest. Your breath clawed its way out of your lungs for a split second before you could no longer feel it. You were pushed back, held silent. Every sense you had was dulled gradually until it disappeared altogether. Once again, you were trapped inside your own body, seeing around you through a veil – only when you’re permitted to, the way  _he_ deemed fit.

Your body inhaled deeply, a smile spreading on your face. “That’s a little too late for that,” Lucifer said through your lips.

Something in their eyes broke.

—

If there was anything you knew about your brothers it was that they wouldn’t, ever, under any circumstances, willingly give you up. Maybe they would if they were forced to. But if they could help it? No. Especially not when their own masochism was threatened.

There was something sweet about causing pain to oneself when you thought you deserved it. There was always this…release. This flow of fresh air through your lungs. This minute of mental peace. That inner content – the feeling that you’d paid your dues. That you were, for once, a good person. That you were worthy of the droplets of happiness soaking through your brain.

You shared that with two very stubborn, very guilty people.

Maybe it was the way you were brought up, thinking everything was on you. That you were responsible for everything that went wrong, especially within your family – all of you. The thing was – it was true. You  _were_ responsible for all the bad; unlike other people, you knew better. You were trained. You were prepared. If anything wrong happened then you  _let it happen._

And that simply wasn’t acceptable.

That was probably why, even though you’d told them, and Lucifer did as well, to stay the fuck away from this whole mess and maybe,  _maybe,_ they’d survive, they still showed up. Guns blazing, Baby roaring – both of them showed up, side by side, only to be joined briefly later by Bobby and Castiel.

No.  _No._

They couldn’t be here – they couldn’t risk themselves like that. Who were you doing this for, then, if they were so easily giving up their lives? No, no, no, no, they couldn’t  _be here,_ dammit! They couldn’t witness this. They couldn’t stand there and disrupt the chain of events. They couldn’t try to stop the apocalypse themselves.

They couldn’t, and you couldn’t either.

You’d been trying to take over your own body and overpower Lucifer, but you couldn’t. You just couldn’t. If you thought months of being with  _the_ trickster and the shitload of demon blood you’d consumed before you’d called for the fallen archangel would even remotely prepare you for the Devil’s tricks, you were mistaken.

He was going to win. He’d already won.

And now it wasn’t enough you fucked up things for the  _whole goddamn planet –_ no. No, your brothers had to be there as well. They had to see you fail one more time. They had to see you lose control yet another time. They had to stand in the crossfire.

_Fuck._

You’d accepted your fate. You’d accepted that you were most likely to be deep fried by Michael while hosting Lucifer. You’d accepted that millions of lives were going to be on you, that you were about to spend eternity in Hell, and you were sure there was a special place down there just for Lucifer’s human condom.

You’d given up.

Like masochism, giving up had a sweet flavor of its own. Whether you were forced into it or not, you just stopped trying. That didn’t mean you stopped caring – no. You cared, and you cared a lot, but there was nothing left in you that  _wanted_ to fight.  _Fuck it, what’s one more final failure?_

_I’m dead anyway._

But the sight of both your brothers and your surrogate father standing in front of you, as well as the angel who’d apparently Molotov’d Michael temporarily just now, it sent you through waves of embarrassment. This, in itself, was a shame – that you only felt true remorse when faced by your family, but two minutes ago? Two minutes ago you were willing to let the world burn.

Literally.

Perhaps it was the demon blood you’d consumed – the false rush of power it sent through you that still lasted in some part of you even though you weren’t even in control of your own body right now. Perhaps it was how much you loathed yourself at this very moment that whatever good left in you was only their presence – how much they both represented the better times of your lives.

It was somewhat of a pattern – throughout the roughest stages of your life, you’d always found a way away from them. Willingly or not. It probably had something to do with this. There was always a chance that if you’d stuck around them, you wouldn’t have been the shell of a human you were now.

Scratch that; not even a shell. Your shell was preoccupied.

“Castiel, did you just Molotov my brother?”

The angel gulped. “Uh, no.”

Your eyes narrowed. “No one dicks with Michael but me,” Lucifer said and snapped your fingers, causing Castiel to explode to a million bloody pieces.

Dean looked like he was trying hard to concentrate. “Y/N, can you hear me?”

_Yes. Yes, I can._

“You know I tried to be nice,” Lucifer said, “For her sake, and for Sammy’s here – now he didn’t really say yes, but he’s still my favorite.” He walked slowly towards him. “But you are  _such_ a pain in my ass!”

He threw Dean against the windshield of the Impala and it shattered. He fell to the floor with a thump, knocked out completely.  _Is he – is he dead?_

Before you could even process what had happened, you felt a tingling through your body. Almost like someone was poking you funny. Lucifer turned around and narrowed his eyes at Bobby, who’d been shooting him relentlessly.  _I’m getting really tired of this,_ he told you.

With one swift movement, he snapped Bobby’s neck.

“NO!” Sam exclaimed, turning back to you –  _Lucifer –_ with determined eyes. “Y/N, listen to me. I know you can hear me,” he said, “I know you can. Listen to me,  _fight him._ ”

_I can’t. I CAN’T!_

“You know, Sam,” Lucifer said, “I don’t have any use for you anymore. But, tell you what.” He rested a finger on your chin. “If you leave right now, I won’t come after you,” he promised, “ _Leave, Sam._ ”

He ignored him, still looking straight into your eyes. “Remember when we were kids? Remember that time I broke my arm?”

1989.

_Where’s he going with this?_

“I’ve warned you, Sam…”

He stayed put even as Lucifer crossed the distance between you and held him up by the collar, lifting him above the ground. “Remember what you told me? You told me  _the only way it’s ever gonna get better is if you believe it will. Have some faith._ ”

He threw him hard on the ground. Sam hissed in pain but still preserved eye contact. “ _Faith_ ,” Lucifer repeated, “Funny.” He grabbed him again and squared your fist, swinging it across his face.

This time, he let you feel – the snap of his bones against your knuckles, the way he twitched in  _your_ grip, struggling to get away from  _punch after punch after punch._ His blood drizzled down your hand, his breathes short and ragged in his chest.

He didn’t fight back. Why wasn’t he fighting back?

_Fight me, dammit!_

“Faith, Y/N, you – you have to believe –”  _Kick._ “—believe in yourself, Y/N. You’ve been through –”  _Shove. “_ —s-so much, but you picked yourself up every time.  _Every time_ ,” he said, “You’re not a monster, Y/N – you – you  _have to believe –_ ”

With the next punch, Sam fell unconscious.

“ _He_  was my true vessel?” Lucifer pondered, “Petty.”

 _No._ NO.

How dare he – how dare he  _do that?_ And use you to do it, too. Imagining something was one thing, but actually experiencing this – experiencing the way your body was disconnected for you except for the parts that sent you hypothetically panting on the inside – it drowned you in a familiar feeling. It was happening again – it was happening all over again.

NO!

You focused every fiber in your being to trying – really trying. Doing your best, for the first time probably ever since you were born. It was over for you, it was all over, but you’d be damned if you let him do that to your brothers or anyone else.

_Not on my watch._

Behind you, something ruffled. He turned your body around to see Dean slipping back into consciousness. He locked eyes with you and he didn’t lecture you, he didn’t yell or tell you what to do. He didn’t treat you like a soldier, he didn’t treat you like you were incompetent.

All he said was, “ _It’s okay, Y/N. I’m here. I’m here for you. It’s okay._ ”

_It’s okay._

Two words. Two words was all it took. The sound of them coming from Dean made your heart clench. You knew this tone all-too-well, you knew what it meant. You remembered, when you were kids, and anything happened, anything at all, he’d hug you and he’d tell you,  _it’s okay, Y/N._

The first thing he told you when your father found out you’d run away on Dean’s watch?  _It’s okay, Y/N._

When you couldn’t sleep for days straight because you were afraid you’d never regain consciousness and control over your body right after you’d been possessed?  _It’s okay, Y/N._

When Bobby was possessed and told you he wished you’d been dead?  _It’s okay, Y/N._

_It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay._

Yes, yes it was.

With a loud grunt, your body slowly starting warming up, regaining control. Your senses were gradually slipping in, your movements – your  _breathing_ ­–becoming yours with every burst of power.  _It’s okay._

Once you were in somewhat complete control of your movements, you slipped your hand into your pocket, where Lucifer had kept the interconnected rings. Dean’s face broke into a relieved, crooked smile as you grimaced, throwing the rings on the ground.

_“Bvtmon tabges babalon.”_

The ground caved in, hallowing deep, sucking in the air around it. Your heart pumped loud in your chest and you took a deep breath. Dean was watching you intently, his features scrunched up, barely containing his tears while Sam was struggling to keep his eyes open.

It was here, it was finally here.  _You did it._

You were  _done_ , you’d reached the end of your journey. You could now, finally, end it all. All the murders, all the hunting, all the pain. You were in for a different route now. A painful one, sure, but it was  _simpler_. It was easier, you imagined.

“It’s okay,” you told them, “You’re the team now.”

(Fin.)


End file.
